


Kusanagi Boar Hunt

by PlumTea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternative Universe - Heian Japan, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gen, M/M, Politics, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-01
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 12:22:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 44,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15119327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlumTea/pseuds/PlumTea
Summary: As the crown prince of Aoba Jousai, Oikawa has always been expected to be a master of both politics and the battlefield. Well aware that he will never be appreciated outside his homeland, he’s left a trail of dead suitors behind him. Just when Oikawa thinks that everyone has taken the hint, he gets a proposal from a prince that’s just as stubborn as he is.





	1. Higanbana

**Author's Note:**

> To all my friends who brought this to life- you know who you are.

It was a full day’s ride back to the capital, and the sweat of the battlefield is still clinging to Oikawa’s skin. He cleaned his sword on his sash before they started the journey back, but he hasn’t gotten the chance to wipe all the dirt off his face. The heat of the sun burns more than ever now that his hair doesn’t drape across his neck. Every limb aches, and blood pounds in his ankles as the soles of his feet drum against the stirrups.

Let the rest of his men enjoy the homecoming festivities. He needs a long nap.

Once they’re in shade of the barracks, he unties the burlap sack hanging from his horse’s saddle and passes it off to one of his commanders. The blood sticking to the bottom has started to dry, caking the bottom with a dark brown. “Make sure these get to my mother.” If he came back empty-handed, she’d make him turn right back around.

It’s a blessing when he trades his armor for a simple robe and dips into the warm baths. The heat curls around his aching limbs and eases out all the weariness clinging to every muscle. He’s not usually one for long soaks, but he could stay here all day and let the warmth soak into his bones. The servants have sprinkled hydrangea petals into the water, small spots of saturated purple inside the thick steam. He lets out a long exhale and slides down until the water pools above his shoulders.

If only he could bring a cushion in here to prop under his neck, then he could really relax. As he scrubs his body, flakes of dried blood drift to the surface and then sink down into the depths. Some of it’s his, but not all of it. Bits of flesh still splay out from where stray arrows tore across his side, and the water bites at the raw wound. Bruises have bloomed all over his body, but it looks like they all can be covered up by his usual robes. He didn’t lose any limbs and he didn’t lose his life, so he can’t really complain.

A loud thump as the door to the baths slide open and then a frantic patter of footsteps. “Excuse me! I’m entering right now!”

All of his handmaids are betas except for one omega-- the only person who’s allowed into the baths at the same time as him. “I’m sorry it took so long!” comes Yachi’s high pitched, ever worried voice. “I heard you were back, but I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, and Kunimi asked me to help him sort the herbs and--” Her house robes are disheveled and messily tied. Her hair is half loose from the ribbon she uses to tie it back, and flares out wildly around her. Out of habit, she keeps her head bowed low, but she accidentally looks up and shrieks. Even after four years, she’s still not used to the idea of a naked boy being anywhere nearby her.

“As long as you’re not thinking anything scandalous, I don’t mind if you look at me.”

“My thoughts are pure! Very pure! I swear!”

“I know, I’m teasing.”

She turns her eyes down to the floor, a smattering of pink across her face. Quick to change the subject, she places the basket she’s holding carefully atop the water. One light push and it floats off her fingers. “Your drink. Yahaba brought it back from his expedition to Nasuno, and I’ve heard it’s very good…”

Yahaba always brings back the best goods from his travels. The wine is pale, with a single flower petal floating on top of it. It slips smoothly down his throat, the chilled wine a perfect balance against the scented steam. “Delicious.”

“I’ll relay that to him. I also brought your favorite comb! You hair must need some brushing after a long journey--” She blanches as soon as she remembers how Oikawa’s hair is now short strands that just barely sweep his neck. “O-Oh.”

“Did you forget?”

How her hands tremble answers his question. “Your hair was so lovely…”

“I know you liked brushing it. Now that your hair is longer than mine, you can use my comb instead.”

“I-- There’s no way I can accept this gift! I’m just a lowly omega…” Any color she had left in her cheeks plunges away. “B-But you’re an omega too! I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to imply--”

Old habits die hard. “It’s fine, it’s fine.”

“Please accept my worthless life as an apology!”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.” He pats the back of his head. Even if he knows he chopped most of his hair off, he’s still not used to having his head feel so light. “You keep that comb. Now I can brush my own hair.”

“No! You don’t have to do that, please let me do it! I’ll be very careful and quick, I promise!”

He laughs. “Sure. But in exchange, tell me everything that’s happened while I was gone.” He doesn’t need fanfare, he needs news.

Yachi swallows. “Okay. I’ll do my best.” She kneels by the edge of the baths, and gently guides Oikawa’s head towards her. She’s always careful to keep her touch as light as possible, as if she’s trying to erase her presence.

“The construction of the bridge connecting Ahaji and Yayoi has been completed. The narcissus have all bloomed in the gardens, same with the chrysanthemums. Lord Kuroo has sent his trade reports back, and he should be in the capital in two day’s time. There was a small struggle in the outer corners of Shijima, but your mother sent troops down there to stop the fighting.”

Oikawa could fall asleep right there, among the warm steam and the gentle comb weaving through his hair. But the kingdom as a whole mattered more than the affairs of one person, and whatever their ruler was feeling. If he’s to take the throne one day, then he has to make it a habit to be wide awake during reports.

“And last week, a messenger arrived from Murakumo.”

“From Murakumo? What did they want?”

“I’m not sure! They wished to only speak with her imperial majesty, so I don’t know…”

If she doesn’t know, she doesn’t know. “That’s enough, I think my hair is fine now. In that case, I’ll have to speak to my mother. Prepare some robes for me...” He slows to a pause when he sees that Yachi has turned her face parallel to the floor. “Yachi. Eyes up.”

Her fingers nervously curl together. “My snail eyes have no place on your form...”

With a sigh, he steps out of the baths, but puts a robe on for Yachi’s sake. “You really should stop talking like that.”

“I’ll try, my prince,” she says, but he knows she’s just saying that to appease him.

Yachi dresses him in simple green robes, but makes sure to put at least three layers on. They both know that no matter the circumstances, the empress accepts nothing short of formal.

The empress’ chambers glow in the sunset, a vibrant orange slipping through her shuttered shades. She sits atop her favorite emerald cushion, and only tilts her head up when he enters the room. “Welcome back, Tooru.”

“Thank you.”

“Watari delivered General Soekawa’s head.”

Anyone can steal a prized weapon or bring back parts of a random corpse. It’s much harder to pull tricks with a head. Oikawa’s blade sliced clean through Soekawa’s neck, and he made extra sure to make sure he’d killed the right person. “Fruit from the battlefield.”

“How thoughtful of you.” The faintest smile curls up her lips. With a wave of her hand, an attendant comes in and pours two cups of barley tea. “This is your third campaign, isn’t it? Good work.”

She says it tonelessly, but from her, that’s high praise. He takes the cup and allows himself one sip. Bitter, but firm. “Thank you.”

His mother takes a sip of her own, moving with a practiced grace. “A messenger from the King of Murakumo visited us while you were on your campaign.”

Murakumo is known for its abundance of ore, the kind that can be used to forge weapons and build palaces. It’s close to the sea, so it reaps rewards from in its bountiful harvest of fish. Aoba Jousai and Murakumo are only separated by a strip of Shiratorizawa territory, so they’ve had trade agreements before. Oikawa nods, only half listening.

“With a proposal.”

“Have they finally decided that the routes we offered them were logically sound?”

“No. For you.”

Oikawa pauses, the rim of the cup gone cold. “Lord Toshizo’s daughter is already engaged to the prince of Kakuzawa.”

“His eldest, yes. But Toshizo has another child— a son.”

Oikawa’s proposals ended in two ways: The first where someone’s enchanted by his title and expect to seal their way to the throne with a bond, not expecting a knife at their throat when they try. The other are those who hear of his status and arrive expecting someone meek and pliable. The last suitor came to the capital four months back, and he’d thought that would have been the end of his bachelor adventures. Hoped, at least.

“I don’t need a marriage.”

“Tooru.” His mother’s voice gets that firmness to it, the kind that reminds him to not defy her. “You will meet with the prince. Fifteen suitors and you’re still somehow single.”

“I don’t remember you being too upset about that.”

“Upset? Not at all.”

Of course not. The incidents took place in Aoba Jousai, and the accused face Aoba Jousai’s laws and the empress’ fury for daring to harm her only son. The suitors’ kingdoms had no grounds to fight back and left with a corpse instead of a new husband. With no heirs, the kingdoms were thrown into chaos, leaving themselves open for Aoba Jousai to claim the territory for their own. It’s a win-win; he stays single, and Aoba Jousai’s borders slowly expand. No doubt his mother has her eye on Murakumo’s resources.

“I give you leniency because you’re my only son. But don’t forget that you will need an heir, and for that you need a partner. You should be lucky that people are still interested in you after that incident.”

He can’t stop his face from scrunching up in fury. The skin around his right eye burns. His mother returns his look, never once to have ever been deterred by his rage. She won’t bend to him, and he knows it.

“How’s his portrait?” he sighs, acquiescing.

Portraits lie all the time; erasing blemishes, making people younger and more heavenly with tricks of the light, bulking them up where they wish they were. The prince of Murakumo is painted in the turquoises of his country, sitting by a field of reeds instead of bathed in the sun. He has a stern expression, knowing but private. A nice build. He isn’t terrible, if the portrait is true.

“At least it’s not someone twice my age.”

His mother chuckles behind her sleeve. “Lord Toshizo and his son will be arriving tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” That’s too soon. He hasn’t even had a good night’s sleep before someone’s coming by to bother him.

“Yes. So be on your best behavior. We want to make a good impression.” His mother waves her hand, dismissing him. “Wear something formal. And hide your face.”

 

* * *

 

He spent the night staring up at the seams in the ceiling, thinking about having to spend time with yet another alpha eyeing him, and counting down the hours until they slipped up. They always slipped up. They wanted someone demure, and he’ll be that when the world burns down.

At sunrise, it’s no surprise that Oikawa wakes up in a terrible mood.

His handmaids have chosen a robe bluer than lapis lazuli with white silk that flows like the clouds. They’ve just finished tying off the last layer when he stops them. “One last thing.” 

Yachi is the first to understand, takes his prized sword off its mount and presents it to Oikawa. “Perfect,” he says, and binds it to his sash.

His mother takes one look at his sword and shoots him a glare.

“It’s formal,” he retorts.

“We wouldn’t want the prince to think we’re waiting for his head to roll.”

“We’re not?”

“We don’t want him to _think_ that.”

They sit side by side on the raised platform, overlooking the entirety of the wide room before them. The lush gardens in the middle of the courtyard are made pale by the sun, but the light streaming in stops short before the empress and the prince. They are meeting with royalty today, so the slatted screens are rolled up, secured by the ceiling with bright red cords. To their right are the empress’ advisors, dressed in blue and gold, and to the left is where three of Oikawa’s handmaidens sit. Aoba Jousai born, all in muted blues.

The envoy announces the guests’ arrival, and Oikawa keeps his fan up high, only allowing for a sliver of the left side of his face to be visible.

Lord Toshizo enters the room first-- a stern man, with high cheekbones and a rocky glare. He’d look much more fitting in armor than the dark robes he has on now.

His son but looks exactly like his portrait, with the exception of a healing scar by his lip. Even if his height doesn’t match his father’s, he carries himself strong and proud. Broad shouldered with the finest turquoise draped across his body, he keeps his eyes forward and immovable. The two royals are flanked by their attendants, a combination of high ranking generals and servants. They all kneel, keeping to their space but not daring to cross the threshold towards the royal family.

Plum wine is served in red cups. His mother chose the darkest, most bloody shade of red, but her smiles and the quality of porcelain keeps the guests from saying anything.

Lord Toshizo is the first to speak. “Thank you for receiving us, Lady Abiko. And with fine wine no less.”

She acknowledges him with a curt nod. “And to all of you, welcome to my kingdom. I understand you have something interesting to say?”

Such is his mother, getting straight to the point. Lord Toshizo looks at his son, who straightens. “Iwaizumi, second prince of Murakumo.” The prince’s voice is low, but not gravelly. “Lady Abiko, I’ve heard many things about your son. If I may, I’d like nothing better than to spend some time with him. If all goes well, then perhaps our kingdoms would find union through marriage.”

“How lovely,” his mother says. To the guests, she’s merely looking over the prince, but Oikawa knows she’s sizing him up like a piece of meat.

“Although even if the marriage doesn’t somehow work out,” Lord Toshizo says, “I hope our countries can remain mutually prosperous.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” his mother replies. Her lipstick is even redder against the lip of her cup.

“May I speak to the prince? With your permission, empress.”

“You may.”

The sun shining from the courtyard makes it easy for them to see the guests, but hard for the guests to see them. Even as Lord Iwaizumi squints, the only thing that catches the light is the golden luster of Oikawa’s fan.

“Lord Oikawa,” he begins regardless, “you know why I have come all this way. If you might grant me a moment of your time.”

Go away.

Outside of Aoba Jousai, Oikawa knows omegas are second class citizens, to be treated no better than cattle in the family finances. A beautiful husband that can sit lovely by his husband’s side and be shown off like a prize. Someone who will ease his husband’s worries and comfort him in times of pain, then one day bear children that will grow up in some other country. By taking his hand, his new husband will have easy access to Aoba Jousai and all its riches. All that, by snatching him up in a marriage.

If he had his say, anyone daring to suggest such a thing would lose their head. He has half a mind to spit Iwaizumi’s words back at him.

But he sees the way his mother is looking at him from the corner of her eye, and any sort of ruckus he kicks up now would humiliate her. When she’s humiliated, nobody will escape her wrath—not even him. Sucking in a sigh behind his fan, he prepares his answer. “A generous offer. I look forward to your company.”

Lord Iwaizumi nods his head, Lord Toshizo smiles in satisfaction, and Oikawa imagines their heads bleached by the sun, hair thinning, and skin picked away by flies.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t even get the chance to change out of his robes before a messenger arrives outside his room. “The Prince of Murakumo wishes to walk with you in the gardens.”

“Which garden?”

“The chrysanthemums.”

The chrysanthemum garden was close enough to the castle that anyone passing by would be able to see the two of them. If Lord Iwaizumi was going to try anything, he wouldn’t have chosen that spot. Or he’s just stupid.

“I’ll be there.”

Oikawa’s not going to change just for one prince. He puts on a wide-brimmed hat and lets the hanging silks drape over his face. It keeps the sun off his body and puts a grimace on Lord Iwaizumi’s face when he sees it.

“Oh.”

“Disappointed?”

“No. But you are inside your own palace. Nobody would mistake you for anyone else.”

“They wouldn't.”

“Then…”

“Today is a sunny day, is it not? I'll burn if I'm out for too long.”

Lord Iwaizumi frowns. “That doesn’t sound like something a warrior would say.”

Most nobles would stutter at that, or glare at Oikawa’s veils in the hope of burning it away with their eyes. Oikawa would stare back, confident that manners would protect him. But this— this answer leaves him speechless.

“You do campaign, don’t you?”

Regaining his voice, Oikawa smoothly responds, “Naturally. So you’ve heard of me.”

“Not many omegas go around taking heads on the battlefield.”

“Not in your country, perhaps. Do you think it is unsightly for an omega to go into battle?”

“Does your family say that?”

This prince isn’t rising to the bait. “If they do, they have enough sense not to say so aloud.”

“And your men?”

“Smart enough to feel the same. Not when my forces protect the borders.”

“Is that so?”

As they glare at each other, streams of yellow petals forgotten, Oikawa sees nothing but unrelenting stubbornness. The other suitors might have thought they were predators, but they didn’t know the traps waiting for them. But this one- this one, he sees the knife.

Lord Iwaizumi is the first to drop his gaze, but he doesn’t act like he relents. “Come walk with me.”

They stroll side by side through the narrow paths, sandals clacking on the stones. The chrysanthemums are tall enough to brush Oikawa’s fingers and sway in the gentle freeze. The bright sun evaporating the morning dew whisks the natural perfume around them, nestling onto the folds of Oikawa’s clothes.

Lord Iwaizumi may have made the offer, but any ideas of courting his suitor is lost within the vast colors of the gardens. “It’s beautiful.”

“Yes.” They were first planted by his father, and after all these years, his mother still makes sure to take good care of them. Yellow petals curl around Oikawa’s finger when he stops to prod one.

Lord Iwaizumi doesn’t seem like much for conversation. Deep silence is always better to vapid chatter, but Oikawa can’t dig out any weaknesses if all his guest does is stare at flowers.

“You surprised me with your proposal,” Oikawa starts. “After all, beyond trade, our countries don’t interact much.”

“Maybe that should change.”

“Indeed. It will be quite fruitful.” When Lord Iwaizumi’s head rolls and Aoba Jousai fully integrates Murakumo into their kingdom, they’ll be able to finally circle Shiratorizawa on the southern front. Once that happens, it will be easy for Aoba Jousai to finally launch a proper campaign against the only country in the land that’s left to rival them.

Lord Iwaizumi looks at him, and Oikawa turns his head, pretending to be shy. Die, so that Oikawa’s blade can finally reach Ushijima for good.

“You seem tired, Lord Oikawa.”

“Like you, I just finished a long trip.”

“Against Shiratorizawa, I heard. Were you successful?”

Oikawa smirks, even though he knows Iwaizumi can’t see it. “Quite. As you can see, I am still here, talking with you. Had I been captured, I’d be a head on display- or sold off.” And he’d bite his tongue off before the latter happened.

Lord Iwaizumi stiffens. His voice comes out lower, more cautious. “Is Lord Ushijima not interested in taking you as a hostage?”

“His mother might try to force me to marry him, it’s true. But I don’t think that would happen.” He’s just waiting for the day when he boils Ushijima alive in a vat of oil, but he will give the prince of Shiratorizawa this- he was the only person who got the hint once Oikawa started killing his suitors off one by one. “Ushijima knows the only way he can best me is in battle.”

“I see.”

“But enough about me. What made you decide to cross your country to charm me?”

He’s heard it all: his charm, his beauty, the unspoken hint of the quality of his body. What Oikawa could never expect is when Lord Iwaizumi says without a single bit of hesitation, “My father willed it.”

Oikawa blinks. “What?”

“I’ve been unmarried for too long, and I have no siblings that can take the throne. My father grew impatient. He wants me to find a suitor, and soon.”

The hat and veils he chose are a blessing, as they hide Oikawa nodding in a haze, wondering if his ears have finally gone bad, or if he’s speaking with the stupidest man alive. He starts to say something sharp, but remembers his image and keeps his voice even. “So you chose me?”

“I’d rather choose nobody.”

“Then you must be very desperate, coming to Aoba Jousai.”

“Seems like it. And you? Why do you want to get married?”

If he’s being honest, he feels the same way. No marriage is the ideal, but he’s a member of the royal family. He has to be married, one day. “Oh, you know. I’m of that age.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married at all.”

Oikawa’s fingers curl around the closed off center of the flower. “Oh?”

“It’s no secret that all your suitors end up dead, and their territories end up being swallowed by Aoba Jousai.” A strong breeze whistles through the garden, swaying flowers with it. “Did you level false charges against them?”

False? He didn’t need to go so far. All he needed to do was act normally, as their self control crumbled, they’d bare their chests, just asking for Oikawa to plunge the knife in. “Of course not. Everything they did, they did on their own.”

“Got it. You don’t seem like the type to charm someone to their death.”

He could, but he’d rather not. He may be a strange omega by any standards, but a seducer he isn’t. He turns back around, drawing up to his full height, and laughs into his sleeve. “Aren’t you accusatory? You’re making a terrible first impression.”

“I know it’s blunt, but I’d rather not have to marry that kind of person, if I have to.” Iwaizumi’s looking flat at him, as he could see straight through the veils. “That being said, I’d prefer that you didn’t kill me.”

“That depends entirely on you, doesn’t it?”

“Guess so. But I know what you do. You let your suitors go impatient and wild, and when they even think of trying to force you, you push them straight towards the executioner. I’m not here because I want to marry you. I’m here because I have to-- and so your trick’s not going to work. I plan to live to a hundred.”

Their gazes match again, both anchored. A knife would cut so well through that stubborn neck but no, Oikawa needs to wait for that moment. That moment will come. The first suitor that ever thought to stare him down, dare him to try something- it sets loose a fire within him that burns, burns. Glowing, knowing he’d never turn down a challenge, and that he’d never lose.

“We’ll see. We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 


	2. Iris

“Hey, prince! You want to go for a ride?”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure what to respond to first, the fact that Hanamaki and Matsukawa trot their horses through the front courtyard towards him like they own the place, or that the carts they bring with them are piled full of boxes and barrels. The palace servants are unpacking everything carefully, following orders but wary of the newcomers.

“You’re lucky my father’s not here.” Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s casual regard of the crown prince doesn’t go over well with many of the nobles, and especially not with their king. Iwaizumi looks over the slowly unloading stockpile and at the gathering audience. All those servants have sharp eyes. Too sharp. “But sure, why not.”

Iwaizumi just manages to one of the servants to relay to his father that he’s going out for an hour before Hanamaki scoops him up onto his horse. “Really?” he sighs, as they pass through the palace entrance.

Hanamaki gives him a grin. “It’s no fun acting stuck up all the time.”

“You’re going to get in real trouble one day.”

“Well, today’s not that day.”

They ride to a hill that overlooks the city, close enough that the lights still filter through the trees, but far enough away that nobody can spot them. Hanamaki dismounts and dramatically holds out his hand for Iwaizumi. “Your majesty.”

Iwaizumi hops down by himself, and dusts off his robes.

Matsukawa brings over a gourd and some cups, and plops down next to the horses. “We got some sake from Sarukawa, and rumor’s right, their breweries are the best.”

The crescent moon huddles in the corner of Iwaizumi’s cup. Hanamaki and Matsukawa gulp theirs down without looking, but Iwaizumi lingers for a moment. The sake in the palace had been strong but bitter, and made his stomach churn for hours afterward. The drink in his hand goes down much smoother, and leaves a sweet aftertaste in his mouth.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki had been sent into Aoba Jousai long before the official caravan left Murakumo. The moment Iwaizumi was told by his father about the arrangement, he knew he’d been delivered a poor hand. He barely knew anything about Aoba Jousai beyond the basics, and it wasn’t enough to survive in a poisonous forest. The last thing he needed to do was trip over some cultural boundary without even realizing it, and between his duties, he didn’t have enough time to do research on his own. But he did have two close friends in the aristocracy who loved poking their noses into everything.

“You both made it back.”

“And no one killed us,” Hanamaki raises his empty glass in a one man toast. “Still not sure if the Kasha figured us out or not, but either way they left us alone.”

If the Kasha, the empress’ secret police, had managed to get hold of them, they wouldn’t still be alive. Or perhaps they were kept alive to keep impressions of Aoba Jousai positive for the visit. Either one seems probable.

“And you’re not dead either, your majesty.”

“It hasn’t even been a day.”

“Sometimes there hasn’t even been a whole day before heads roll. But really— there’s no way it keeps working.”

Matsukawa raises an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“No way. Once or twice, sure, but Lord Oikawa’s had fifteen suitors. Fifteen, and they’re all ashes and bone. But people still keep coming?”

“I can see it,” Matsukawa says, ever calm under Hanamaki’s emotion. “All those corpses means he’s dangerous. Beautiful and dangerous and possibly attainable.”

“I mean, I guess. People always go for the grand prize.”

“You forget,” Iwaizumi cuts in, “that alphas are stupid. Only fifteen? I’m surprised there haven’t been more.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa exchange glances. “Guess anyone who thinks only with their dick is an idiot. So Aoba Jousai’s doubled in size no problem.”

They mumble hints to each other, unsure of where to start first. Matsukawa coughs, taking the lead. “Speaking of, it looks like despite all the new territory Aoba Jousai has gotten, they’re being taken good care of. No clear signs of dissent, and people seem to be happy. As for the former governments, looks like all the royals have been exiled—“

“Or killed,” Hanamaki finishes.

“But the people who actually kept things running are still in place, just under the supervision of the Aoba Jousai court. So as far as the people are concerned, they have the same faces around them, they just give their taxes and harvests to a different crown. Each territory has their own representative that stays in the capital, and participates in the court.”

Iwaizumi nods. Lady Abiko’s smart. She knows that she can’t control the nuances of each country so she makes them take care of their own affairs. “And what about laws? Broad strokes?”

“Basically. Life’s the same, economy’s adjusted a little, laws change a little. Problem is some of those new laws.” Hanamaki pours himself another cup. “Everyone knows the laws for omegas are lax in Aoba Jousai, right? Well, they’re more than just that— they’re crazy lax.”

“Explain.”

“Alright so, Prince Oikawa’s great-great grandfather was an omega too, and he hated one thing— having all the rights to the country, but being denied all of them. If the king can’t be free, then who can? So the first thing he did was legally abolish all of the unspoken omega traditions. They’re no longer second class citizens, and have representation under the law. They can own property, get education, move up the social ladder, join the army, have inheritance rights, all that. They can refuse marriages too, and aren’t forced to follow the family mandates anymore.”

Iwaizumi quirks an eyebrow. “So what, they just…”

“Well, they can follow the family if they want, but they’re no longer legally bound to.”

“Sounds controversial.”

“Oh yeah. Too many assassination attempts to count, rebellions and chaos. But in the end, they were all put down, and the laws stayed. Same for the territories too- they rise up, but Aoba Jousai’s never been particularly kind to rebellions. You can bring your grievances to your representative for them to present in the court, but if you try to insult the laws of the monarchy, they’re going to crush you with all they have.”

“So alphas have no rights?”

“Legally, they’re the same, but things have sure changed. The court aside, since there’s more emphasis on the family and the continuation of bloodlines, alpha work is less valued, I guess? I mean, the country is so big, there’s no real push to have children. Not like ours.”

Iwaizumi watches the moon tremble in his cup. No push to procreate means no push to marry. “That sounds nice.”

“You just don’t want to get married,” Matsukawa points out.

“Yep.”

“Listen to our prince,” Hanamaki chuckles. “Sometimes you’re too bold. At least your father has Nariko.”

As a breeze rustles the leaves, Iwaizumi wonders which his father is more likely to do: forgive Nariko for ignoring the suitor he chose for her, or allow Iwaizumi to not get married.

Matsukawa goes to light his pipe. Whatever he smokes always smells like burning flowers. “Of course, there’s always those that don’t get seen. It’s not a paradise. But considering how good the Kasha are, and how they take crimes very seriously, it takes a certain kind of person to want to try. Bribing any official, especially the Kasha, is an easy trip to the chopping block. The person leading the army is their omega prince. Any territory that voices complaints can kiss their protections goodbye.”

“Effective.” Iwaizumi takes another drink. “Obey the law or die.”

“Yep. We knew Lord Oikawa was out for blood, but I get it now.”

“Well, he’s a warmonger.”

“No. Why he wants to kill you.”

Iwaizumi flares his nostrils. It takes all he has to not raise his voice- they came this far to not be spotted. “What did I do? We’ve never met before!”

After a long moment, Matsukawa evenly replies, “Think what you’re asking of him.”

“For him to marry me?” At his own words, Iwaizumi finds his breath is stuck on his throat. It doesn’t matter how gorgeous Lord Oikawa ends up being, because he didn’t want a marriage in the first place either. He sates his frustration for a moment. “I mean… I’ve done some thinking. Neither of us want this, so I’ll let him have free reign. If he wants to visit home, fine. If he wants to voice his opinions, fine. If he wants a lover, fine.” He puts his cup down, forgotten, and rests his chin on his hand. The weariness of the day aches at him. “It’s just a political marriage anyway.”

“That’s all fine and good, but… you’re missing the point.” Hanamaki says.

“What am I missing?”

“Think about it. You’re the alpha. He’s marrying you, so by Murakumo custom, he’s going to be part of Murakumo household, under Murakumo rules. Get it? All those rights he grew up with will get stripped away the moment he marries you, because he’ll no longer be a citizen of Aoba Jousai. He’ll have to defer to everything you say, follow everything you do, become your property. You’re asking him to trade all the freedoms he’s had from birth for what, you? The only way he keeps his lifestyle is by staying in Aoba Jousai, and so he’s going to try his hardest to kill you.”

The quiet of the clearing absorbs Iwaizumi’s growing fear. “Shit.”

“Shit indeed.”

If he was in chains, he’d fight back with all he could too. On his side, he doesn’t want to get married because the idea doesn’t appeal to him. If only it was simply appeal keeping Lord Oikawa away from the idea as well.

“You’re our prince and friend. We don’t want to get your head chopped off. Or disemboweled. One suitor had all his limbs torn off.” Matsukawa coughs, and Hanamaki quickly veers back. “Point being, we don’t want to see you die. But the way things are, he’s coming after you, and you have to be prepared.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

The last of the sake flows into Hanamaki’s cup. “I wish I knew.”

 

* * *

 

Even with the morning sun stretching up into the sky, the slatted shutters are pulled tight. Light trickles in through the bottom of the curtains, but what brightens the room instead are three long candles positioned in the middle of the room.

The Empress of Aoba Jousai is the tallest woman he’s ever seen, boasting a strong back and willowy figure down to her long robes. It’s hard to tell how old she is, even with the lines around her mouth and eyes, and her long, dark hair doesn’t show any touches of silver just yet. Leaves pattern her green and red robes, curling softly in contrast to her icy eyes.

The prince sits by his mother’s side, his veils held in place by a small golden flower nestled in his hair. It’s brown and wavy, unlike his mother’s all dark and straight, and perhaps a remnant from the late emperor. He would perfectly respectable in his robes, all white and creams and light browns, had it not been for the sword sheathed at his side. Iwaizumi feels a prickling, like the prince is staring at him, but he can’t confirm with those veils in the way.

“How was your rest?” Lady Abiko asks him.

“I slept very well,” Iwaizumi lies.

“Excellent.” If Lady Abiko noticed his lie, she doesn’t mention it. Most likely, she doesn’t care.

Iwaizumi and his father sit on the right side before the empress, and their generals sit opposite them on the left. It’s a tight-knit formation to keep any curious ears away. He’s surprised the empress doesn’t have any advisors with her, but if she needed them, they’d be there.

His father is the first to speak. “Lady Abiko, I appreciate you granting us an audience. As I said yesterday, even if the arrangement doesn’t work out, Murakumo would like to remain on good terms with Aoba Jousai. You brought a proposal to us a few months back regarding the trade routes on the southern border.”

“Have you found them to be satisfactory?”

“For the most part, but some minor details…”

Iwaizumi feels needles on his skin and tenses up. Lord Oikawa is looking at him now, and he doesn’t need to see the prince’s eyes to know it. The prince is shrewd, polite enough with his words but always coaxing towards the pitfall. Practiced and venomous. Now he sits by his mother’s side, unmoving. It’s hard to tell if he’s breathing through those thick robes, but no doll can have this kind of pressure.

He’s on edge, with all focus on the words and not the prince. Iwaizumi knows he’s safe in public, where neither of them would dare act, but even then a lick of cold steel still skims his throat. _Soon_ , it promises.

All discussion falls quiet when a silhouette moves by the screen. A guard, judging from the shadowed slope his bow makes against the slats. “Your imperial majesty, Shimizu-gozen has returned from her expedition.”

“Bring her in.”

The guards roll up the screens facing the lengthy halls, and move out of sight as a figure comes their way. The alpha woman moves silently, even in full armor. Unlike the colorful robes of the imperial family, the only spots of color are the blue cords keeping her armor secure, and the rest is all a muted black. Her elegant strides match her long limbs, and her smooth features are astounding. Her long dark hair is tied in a high ponytail, and sweeps the ground as she bends at the threshold between light and shadow. “My empress. My prince.”

“Now that’s more like it,” comes a whisper behind him, and Iwaizumi sees Lord Oikawa shift ever so slightly at the sound.

In Shimizu-gozen’s right hand is her wooden bow, and is her left is a simple sack. She places the large bundle on a long plate a servant brings forward and unwraps it. A ripple goes through the group, and Iwaizumi’s stomach tightens up. Two severed heads sit atop the fabric, dried blood at their necks. Death has twisted their expressions, a far cry from the smooth faces Iwaizumi has seen at funerals. “The bandits of Mount Suzuka have been suppressed,” Shimizu-gozen calmly reports.

Iwaizumi’s father bristles at the line of unwrapped heads. He glances at the empress to test the waters, but there’s nothing but a slight smile on her face.

“Excellent work. You can discuss your payment with Kuroo.”

“My empress.”

“What’s the meaning of this, Lady Abiko?”

Lady Abiko shifts her gaze to the general who spoke up. Iwaizumi feels a bead of sweat roll down his spine, lingering just beneath his ribs. “Meaning? What are you referring to?”

“This… display, of course.”

“Shimizu-gozen is one of our finest warriors.” Lord Oikawa’s voice rings out, loud and clear. “She has been given our utmost trust and respect. Our house sent her on a mission, and she has brought back proof of her accomplishments. Would your house not do the same? Or would you simply accept word as proof?”

One of the generals leans forward to say something, but Iwaizumi holds out a hand. He needs to stop this misunderstanding before it gets out of hand. “Forgive my generals, Lord Oikawa. They were surprised. Our soldiers only show proof of their success when there are no guests around.”

Lord Oikawa makes a low sound, and Iwaizumi feels that steel along his neck again. But he gives back steel of his own, for he’s not bending in something outside of his control.

“My prince, your praise is quite kind. But I don’t believe you’ve introduced your guests.”

Lady Abiko answers in his stead. “Lord Toshizo and Lord Iwaizumi have made their way from Murakumo. My son has another suitor.”

“Ah.” Shimizu-gozen meets his gaze once, and turns away just as quickly. “It seems I’m intruding.”

“Not at all. But you are dismissed. Go have a long rest.”

Shimizu-gozen bows with grace. After a moment’s consideration, she looks at all their faces, as if memorizing each one, before rising to her feet. She leaves behind a strong scent of blood and tangy citrus.

Nobody offers to say anything. A wandering fly has found one of the heads, and settles on an opened eye. Iwaizumi finds himself staring at that fly, comfortably cleaning itself on a corpse, and can’t look away. Some dried blood has peeled off the bottom of the clean cut neck, flaking against the white fabric atop the plate. The scent of decay tingles Iwaizumi’s nose, and he shifts on his knees.

“I’m tired.” Lord Oikawa’s motion of dismissal is hardly anything more than his fan sliding in front of his face to cover a yawn. How he gets to his feet is far too composed for anyone truly exhausted. “Our discussions have already come to a close, no?”

“You’ll need more stamina,” Lady Abiko tells her son, but the curve of her eyes is an answer enough.

 

* * *

 

Some attendants have brought in some food, and once they were deemed safe by the food tasters, everyone has divided them up among themselves. Two of the generals have found instruments and are strumming about and singing. Nobody is dressed in their finest robes, but they are all sitting around, comfortable and laughing. A few people are humming along, mouthing words from songs that they all know the words to.

Iwaizumi knows everyone his father has picked out to make the journey, but he can’t sympathize with their joy, as infectious as it is. There are too many people relying on him for an impossible task, and seeing their smiling faces, enjoying the day, laughing away— they’re sitting a country away from him. They’re back in Murakumo, waiting to see if he will succeed. If he doesn’t, they’re far enough away to not feel it.

Matsukawa pats him on the shoulder. Both he and Hanamaki reek of alcohol, but they’re still here with him. “You haven’t touched your food. A shame, after they made all this pheasant. It’s good pheasant too.”

He’s even wary of the chopsticks. They shine with beautiful polish, but that shiny coat could easily be poison someday. “Not my best day, that’s all.” He doesn’t need to tell them why. They’ve already guessed it.

“And that’s why you need to eat.” Matsukawa slides the tray towards Iwaizumi.

“We did bring back all sorts of deserts,” Hanamaki speaks with a mouthful of meat. “What did we get... persimmons, peaches, chestnuts, all sorts of sweets— did we pick up dango at that one shop, or did I forget?”

“You forgot.”

Hanamaki clicks his tongue. “We have to go back.”

Iwaizumi chokes at the thought of the two of them trying to barter their way out of the palace to go back and pick up some more sweets. They would. Giving into the moment, he cracks a smile.

A servant slides open the door just a crack, and kneels, keeping his head bowed. Iwaizumi slaps the smile off his face. “Sorry for intruding,”

His father has swallowed plenty of sake, but his eyes aren’t dull. “What is it?”

“You have a visitor.”

“Send them in.”

The visitor doesn’t wait for the servant to move, but steps over them. His robes are a mix of deep red and black- the first time that Iwaizumi’s spotted anyone wearing some other color besides blue and white. Even if he’s dressed in the pressed, expensive robes of nobility, his hair is wild and unbrushed. “Hello, hello. Welcome to Aoba Jousai.”

Undeterred, his father says, “And you are?”

“Where are my manners? Nekoma-no-Kuroo.” The man sweeps his arm in a dramatic bow. “At your service, Lord Toshizo.”

Iwaizumi struggles to remember what Hanamaki and Matsukawa have told him about the court of Aoba Jousai. The imperial family that rules all, but even for a condensed family there are still branch families that normally don’t have any claim to the throne. Aoba Jousai has two branches: Nekoma and Karasuno. If Oikawa gets married, then the throne will be vacant once Lady Abiko abdicates. When that happens, the throne will go to the next eligible person. The Karasuno clan has an heir, but he’s younger than Oikawa by three years. On the other hand, Nekoma’s heir is Oikawa’s age, making their clan the best contenders for the throne.

“Nekoma, huh. I didn’t think you’d be making a visit so soon.”

“You know we’re quite efficient! But I’m here as a representative of myself.” Kuroo gestures behind him, and two of his attendants bring forward several large containers. “You may be courting our prince, but there’s no reason we can’t be courteous in return.”

“My lord,” whispers General Shido, eager. “Shall we try some out?”

“I don’t see why not. Did you bring any sake?”

“Only the finest.”

“Open a barrel!”

The party cheers, and the room becomes lively again. Kuroo and his attendants have seamlessly slid into the room, pouring drinks and laughing with the rest of them. Everyone else seems to have no problem swallowing them up, but those red kimono stand out among their regular turquoise.

Iwaizumi samples his drink and presses his back against the wall so nobody can creep up on him. Hanamaki and Matsukawa leave him alone, joining the festivities with open ears and sharp memories. Hanamaki is already chatting with one of the Nekoma servants, with a young man with a bent back that looks like he wants to be anywhere else.

If only he could talk with the rest of them. He spends most of his time doing his duty but also getting to know everyone who interacts with him along the way. It’s much better to be a person than a faceless prince. Here, the blood reeks from every thatch on the mats, and all the servants smile prosperity and whisper death. The more he’s known, the more passionate he becomes with his duty, the closer the silent blade sneaks towards his head.

“Mind if I join you?” Iwaizumi doesn’t have to strain his neck much to see deep red robes and a white smile.

He wants to say no, but with the prince already after him, he doesn’t need to make more enemies. “You may.”

Kuroo plops down next to him and stretches his legs out with a satisfied groan. “That feels good. I’ve been far too cramped in that palanquin.”

Iwaizumi chews on a sliver of meat. “Plenty of room here.”

Kuroo laughs, and it sounds like a braying donkey. “You’re kind of a funny guy, you know that? You don’t have to be so stiff. Just wanted to see who the new face was.” For a short space of time he looks Iwaizumi up and down. Maybe he sees Iwaizumi the same way farmers do, as they inspect prized cattle in the market. “You’re not too bad looking.”

“Not common?”

“Our prince has gotten a few types with big treasuries and the compliments end there.” Kuroo holds up a fat white gourd, and his grin creases his cheeks. “Drink?”

Iwaizumi mutters his thanks, and keeps his head bowed politely as he holds out his empty cup. Kuroo pours so slowly that Iwaizumi’s arm starts to ache. With the sake just a wobble away from spilling, Kuroo lightly taps the rim of the gourd against the cup to squeeze out one last drop, and gestures for Iwaizumi to drink.

If he tries to move slowly, he’ll drop it all over his lap. His annoyance comes in a gust, and with a twist of his arm, he zips the cup to his mouth, too fast for it to think of spilling. The sake burns relentlessly down his throat, but at the end of the embers comes something tangy and spicy.

Kuroo mouths around a moment of surprise, but that blurs into the cheeky grin he’s had on this whole time. “You’re pretty good.”

“Thanks. Why the gifts?”

“Why not?” Kuroo exhales as his back hits the wall. He’s the very image of grace, long legs splayed out and lounging against the wall, knowing that nobody can chide him. “You came with such wonderful gifts for our prince, but there’s no reason we can’t treat you with hospitality as well.”

The sake in Iwaizumi’s cup is finer than any of the brews that he’s tasted back in the palace. Such fine drink comes with a price that shouldn’t be spent on a dead prince. Flattery won’t sweeten him, and kindness from strangers is never free.

Politeness retreats further and further away. The principle of having to smile at someone so clearly leering at him already sends ripples across Iwaizumi’s brow, but he’s not stupid. Kuroo is testing him, just waiting to see how he’ll react. If he responds politely, he’ll be a pushover. If he tries to intimidate, then he’s another gruff, dumb alpha. But sitting here and doing nothing isn’t something he’s keen on.

“If I remember correctly, if Oikawa agrees to the marriage then you’re next in line to the throne.” With a clipped tone, Iwaizumi cranes his neck towards the boxes of gifts. “So are these a sign of things to come?”

Still in earshot, Hanamaki and Matsukawa choke on their drinks. One of Kuroo’s aides, a short young man with a deep frown, fixes a hard glare on Iwaizumi.

Kuroo’s grin falters as he catches sight of the jagged arrowhead aimed his way. Everyone is still talking, but their voices have lowered enough that they can overhear. If he’s feeling frustrated, all that shows on Kuroo’s face is the smile he puts back in place. “That may be. But as of now, I’m but a humble member of the court. Still, nothing would please Aoba Jousai more than a healthy partnership between nations.”

The fake festivities had given Iwaizumi’s irritation another boost, but now it simmers down. Kuroo responded to his accusation far too smoothly. They’ve expected this- he’s still just as snug in the palm of this country’s hand as before. “That’s good to know,” keeping the tension tight in his ribcage.

“I think so too.” Kuroo says, watching the grim glow on Iwaizumi’s face.

“What an interesting conversation.” His father doesn’t look at him, but his words are unquestionably authoritative. “A poor first impression, I’d say. Perhaps my son should look at the tranquility of the gardens for a bit.”

“The narcissus are in bloom right now,” Kuroo offers, the amused curve of his tone back again.

Iwaizumi feels dizzy when he gets to his feet and bows. “If you’d excuse me,” he mumbles, and drifts out of the room. His ventures through the palace have always been with the help of servants, and he’s not sure where he should be going. It doesn’t matter, he just needs to get far away from that cocky grin.

He’s walked for a minute before he spots a servant girl on her knees, wiping up a spot on the floor. A tray is next to her with a bowl of half-finished soup, likely the remains of some noble’s lunch. It’s far better to let a servant continue their duties undisturbed, so he doesn’t cough, or insist she gets up.

As he passes, he doesn’t see a shine from the corner of his eye. The wood isn’t glittering with water, yet she still scrubs that same spot, over and over.

Iwaizumi crouches down, kneeling so that his robes dissuade any potential eavesdroppers and whispers, “Why are you cleaning a dry floor?”

The servant scrambles up, dirty towel falling across her robes. She yelps, knocking it off, and falls flat on her back. Her panic whisks her scent around— an omega. Before Iwaizumi can reach out to help her, she’s sprung up again, curling into a bow so low her forehead knocks against the wood. “Forgive me! I had no idea you were nearby!”

“It’s fine, raise your head,” he says at a regular volume.

She feels around for her rag, wringing it tightly in her hands. “Please don’t think badly of the other servants, I’m just inattentive and lazy—”

“It’s alright. I disturbed your work. Did something happen?”

“I… I spilled some soup. My lord requested that I fetch some sake, but I have to clean my mess up first.” Between her fingers, her rag is bone dry.

“I see.” So that must be where the palace stores their food. Iwaizumi bends down close to her, eliciting a small yelp, and covers his mouth with his robes. “What’s in there, that you’re ignoring your duty to your lord?”

His whisper widens her eyes and sends a tremble down her body. She looks at him, lips trembling like she forgot how to breathe. Voiceless words shape her mouth until she manages to quietly say, “Someone’s inside there. They’re trying to kill me.”

Palace assassinations aren’t unheard of, but assassinations targeting servants is something new. He’s vowed to be attentive to the servants, but it doesn’t mean he has to listen to everything they say. “Alright.” He leans back, putting some distance between them.

Her hand moves sharply, clutching the very edge of his sleeve. “I mean it. I really mean it. If I go in there, I’ll be killed.” Her eyes are trembling, ready to spill tears. “Please don’t make me go in there, please, please…”

She’s delusional. It’s clear she’s not faking her words- she really believes that someone’s hiding in there to hurt her. Caught up in her imagination, she’s forgoing her duty to her lord. Back in Murakumo, late servants would receive a beating. With how she sways like a reed, he’s not sure that she’d be able to endure that.

With a sigh, he carefully removes her fingers. “Okay, I’ll go look inside, you can watch me, and then get back to work.”

Sunlight races across her head when she nods madly. “Yes. I’ll watch everything, thank you...”

It could be a trap, but nobody can fake fear that deeply rooted. He slides open the door, and the servant scampers to the room’s edge, peering in.

The room is packed tight with small mountains of boxes that tower over Iwaizumi’s head. Wooden containers and woven baskets prop up porcelain boxes at the very top. The edges are perfectly stacked to make the visible exteriors as as smoothly aligned as possible. All angles of the boxes are turned away from the narrow pathways through the wide room, but still nip at Iwaizumi’s sleeves when he passes through. Sunlight streams through the light fabric on the furthermost door, but when he opens it, all he overlooks is the carefully trimmed greens of a garden. He shuts it tight and puts back the stones keeping it in place. Decorative, likely to let light in to prevent rot from piling up.

Even with the sunlight, the room is pierced with thorns of shadow. Iwaizumi glances all around, but every pile reveals another crevice. If the mountains were to fall, and the servant outside decided to walk away, who knows how long he’d stay there? The hum of the birds outside reverberates through the hollow room.

Nobody. Nothing. Just a servant and her paranoia.

He turns around with a sigh when a flicker of movement catches his eye. He sees the woman in the corner first, and the knife in her hand coming towards him second.

Outside the room, he hears the servant scream.

First moves have the advantage, but no advantage can stop Iwaizumi’s palm from smashing into the woman’s nose. She doubles back, blood spewing from her nostrils, but her hand is steady. The knife slices through Iwaizumi’s sleeve, tearing away turquoise fabric. The assailant finds her balance, but not before Iwaizumi’s fist sinks into her stomach, and his body weight brings them both down. A thud echoes through the room as her head hits the floor, but her grip remains tight around the blade.

The servant creeps inside, wide-eyed and clutching at her sleeves. “Did you get them?”

With the perpetrator knocked out, Iwaizumi finds it easier to breathe. His wrist stings a little, the dull thumps up his arm reminding him that this is all real. “How did you know?”

She sucks in a cautious breath, and an exhaustion settles over her cheeks as she does her best not to cry. “It’s happened before.”

Iwaizumi opens his mouth to ask, but a thundering of footsteps interrupts him. In charges the woman warrior from before, out of her armor but in enough layers to be presentable. Her hair is down and flares around her, as she clutches a nagitana in her right hand.

“Lady Shimizu!” the servant squeaks.

“Yachi.” She hurries forward, elegant even while running. She stops before the servant, frantically looking for anything out of place. “Are you hurt?” Cold fury darts into her eyes when she sees Iwaizumi kneeling on the floor. “Did he…?”

“No!” The servant, Yachi, frantically shakes her head. As Shimizu-gozen takes one of her hands, she flinches, instinctively pulling away. Yet apart, her voice has lost its shiver. “He— he saved me. He went and looked for me. If he didn’t...” The thought sends her teeth clattering.

The fury bleeds from Shimizu-gozen’s face as she looks at Iwaizumi first with surprise, then with the impassive ice that she held before. She nudges the unconscious body with the end of her nagitana, and when they don’t move, she gives Iwaizumi her full attention.

Yachi comes forward, hands tangled up in her kimono, bowing so low that she could easily lose her balance. “Thank you, Lord Iwaizumi. To listen to a mere omega servant like myself…”

“It’s not a problem.” Omega or not, he doesn’t like seeing the people around him scared. “Never did like seeing servants get in trouble. You should go back to your lady.”

Shimizu-gozen quirks a slender eyebrow, and Iwaizumi wonders if he’s done something wrong.

Yachi flinches as several guards push past her. “You’re right, I should go. Thank you! And excuse me!” She stumbles to pick up her tray and blows out of the room. Watching her go, Iwaizumi wonders what has her so on edge all the time.

Shimizu-gozen steps in front of him, the weapon in her hand all the authority she needs. “Go back to your gathering. We’ll take care of things from here.”

There are so many questions Iwaizumi wants to ask as the guards pick up the assailant’s limp body, but he doesn’t know how to frame them. His first reaction is to demand answers, but he’s already intruded on some space he has no idea about. Under the watchful gaze of the guards, Iwaizumi turns around and heads back to the party.

 

* * *

 

“You’re still wearing that thing.”

Lord Oikawa lowers himself onto a cushion, tucking his legs neatly underneath him. With a shake of his head, the hanging silks off his hat tumble into place, like crests of rolling foam. “Of course,” he says, an icy smile in his voice.

“Right.” As unnerving as it is, Iwaizumi can’t just pull it off him. They’re here for dinner, not for a fight.

It’s just the two of them, discounting the guards stationed outside. The birds are humming outside, splashing around in the small brook that runs across the inner gardens. As the sun sets, it casts a shade of peace across the room. The overcast clouds have cooled the afternoon air, but a humidity still lingers. Lord Oikawa coughs, his hands twisting under his sleeves.

“Insult me if you want, but get it over with. I want to enjoy my meal.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Lord Oikawa’s bladed edge dulls, as he takes a cautious breath. “Thank you for earlier. This doesn’t mean I’ll marry you, but I’m grateful that you saved my handmaiden.”

“Your what?”

Lord Oikawa’s voice goes flat, bothered. “My handmaiden. You helped her this afternoon.”

“Your…” The blonde omega servant girl. “That was your… I didn’t realize.”

“You didn’t know,” Lord Oikawa repeats.

He doesn’t want to admit out loud that he didn’t have much time to do research on the country of his betrothed. There wasn’t enough time for Hanamaki and Matsukawa to report their findings before his father dragged him all the way here. If Lord Oikawa knew that he’d come here completely unprepared, it would shame his country. All he replies with is a sheepish, “Right.”

The prince’s voice is unreadable as he says, “I see…” This seems to disquiet him for a moment, but a cough makes him sturdy again. “But let me make this clear.” Lord Oikawa’s voice glitters with a warning. “Your kindness is one thing. Nobody will turn down kindness. But if you’re going to be giving any sort of attention to my unbonded handmaiden, step down. Now.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t catch the implication until a second has passed. “What? No— of course not! I wouldn’t— who would?” Lord Oikawa gives him a weary silence, and Iwaizumi swallows his words. “Of course I won’t.”

“As long as we understand each other.”

Servants come bearing food; with dippings on a red circular plate, and the majority of the food balanced on a large black tray. The lacquer is smooth and unscratched, propping up several small porcelain bowls. Marbled boar is slathered with a sweet-smelling sauce. A bowl of rice sprinkled with dry plum is placed right next to a steaming cup of miso soup. On the journey, Iwaizumi ate well, but it’s no comparison to a palace feast. He tries the boar, and the brown sauce smears on the chopsticks. He’s had boar before, but this is juicy and firm. Cooked to perfection, chewy but not raw. “Delicious!”

“Our cooks are very talented.”

“This sauce would be perfect on some sea bream.”

“Ah. We don’t get many of those.”

Murakumo is pinned between the coast and the mountains, and neither terrain is very good for farming. The cooks at home usually serve fish, but he hasn’t seen fish being served in Aoba Jousai. The only land that overlooks the sea in Aoba Jousai territory is far to the west, and several slivers up north. With that distance, it must be hard to get fish into the landlocked capital.

Iwaizumi looks up to see Lord Oikawa pick up his chopsticks, but that hat of his is still in the way. The silvery veils cascade all the way down his body and pools by his knees. Having to look into a stream of endless white instead of a face grows a branch of unease in Iwaizumi’s stomach. Lord Oikawa’s right in front of him, but is still more story than human.

“You’re still keeping that on?”

“Are you that eager to see my face?”

“Not really. But I don’t see how you can eat like that. Are you going to put your food between those veils?”

A small hitch of breath is barely audible. “Stubborn,” Lord Oikawa chides with a hint of amusement.

“Pointing out the obvious,” Iwaizumi counters.

Nails scratch the brim of the hat as Lord Oikawa pulls it down onto his lap. Silks flow over his head as they come fluttering down.

Iwaizumi can feel his heart stop. This was a mistake.

Lord Oikawa’s hair is the color of the soil that feeds roses, and waves in whatever direction the breeze chooses to sweep it in. It’s surprising how pale he is, especially for someone spending time under the sun, but he’s only a shade darker than the porcelain white empress. Smooth skin and long eyelashes and lips so soft that he’s tempted to touch them.

It’s a struggle for Iwaizumi to keep his head down at his food. He’d guessed that the rumors would have a semblance of truth but still be inflated, as many rumors are. The last thing he expected was for them to be true.

His head on a stake outside the castle walls. Maggots eating into the flesh of his raw neck, making his throat squirm as if he was still breathing. Bruised fingers clutching only at dirt, never to hold anything again. Each truth he forces through his mind sinks his curiosity further into the mud.

Lord Oikawa’s lips perk up into a smirk, creasing the skin around his agate eyes and flashing white hunter’s teeth. “You’re staring.”

Thorns coil around his throat. He can’t lie, not about something so obvious. “Sorry. It’s just…”

“Just?”

“I had no idea what you looked like.”

Lord Oikawa’s smile slips, and Iwaizumi feels the coils fall away. “They didn’t send you a portrait of me?”

“No.”

“I see…”

“Are you going to keep that on too?” Iwaizumi gestures towards the circlet of curled vines around Oikawa’s head, holding up a veil that covers everything between his nose and his left ear. Even if they had been in better light, the fabric is far too thick to peek through. It doesn’t fall around his mouth, but it makes half of his face look like a statue.

“You haven’t earned the right to see my full face.”

Iwaizumi supposes that he’s lucky enough to have gotten this far. “Fair enough.”

Good food is meant to be eaten in silence, but the lack of words spins discomfort in Iwaizumi’s stomach. Dinners at Murakumo were loud and filled with conversation. Here, the easy movement from chopsticks to plate are so faint he might as well be sitting still.

“I’m surprised,” Lord Oikawa says between bites of rice. “Here I thought you would have received a portrait.”

He knows Oikawa just recently came back from a campaign, so the news is as fresh to him as it was for Iwaizumi. “Well, last minute.”

“Then what have they told you about me?”

Altogether, not much. “That we’re the same age. That you’re an established general on the battlefield. That you’re a beauty. It all seems to be true so far.”

At that, Lord Oikawa’s eye widens. Outside, birds usher in music between the muted rise and fall of the princes’ breaths. “Strange,” Lord Oikawa speaks no louder than the wind. “You sound like you’re describing the weather.”

“Here I thought the Aoba Jousai courts loved talking about the weather.”

With a flare of annoyance, Lord Oikawa snips, “This isn’t a poetry reading.”

“Just letting you know ahead of time, I’m not writing you a poem.” Unbothered, Iwaizumi returns to his meal. “But it’s true, you are beautiful. There’s no reason to go on and on about it.”

Lord Oikawa’s mouth scrunches together like a piece of forgotten fabric. He tenses with a thorned breath inside his chest, but no words come spilling out. “Aren’t you blunt?” he finally says, stilted.

“You too.”

How weird. What Iwaizumi said wasn’t unusual. No doubt Lord Oikawa’s heard praises before, being universally good-looking with many suitors past. None of this is news-- unless he’s pretending to throw Iwaizumi off guard. Having half his face covered doesn’t entirely conceal his emotions, but it forces Iwaizumi to pause before he can process facial expressions.

Fifteen before Iwaizumi, all dead. No doubt the prince has the knowledge to weaponize his emotions, and each one could take off his head.

“Like it or not, I’m here to stay.”

“Then make yourself comfortable, as a guest.”

Guest, not suitor. “That’s fine. But I’ve never been to Aoba Jousai before. Knowing facts isn’t the same thing as experiencing things up close.” With a pause, Iwaizumi makes his gamble. “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“Not between my legs you’re not.”

Iwaizumi chokes on his rice, but Lord Oikawa’s lips are pinched tight. What could be a scowl from afar looks tired up close. “Nobody said anything about that. What I mean is that— I don’t know you. I don’t know your country. So tell me about yourself.”

Lord Oikawa sits so still he could be mistaken for a temple statue. With jeweled eyes, he says, “You’re right. You don’t know me. And I don’t know you.” He puts his chopsticks down and props his elbow up on his knee, resting his chin along the curl of his fingers. “You’re my guest, Lord Iwaizumi, and I’ve never been to Murakumo either. Tell me about your country.”

Iwaizumi isn’t sure where to look, but he’s sure that Lord Oikawa’s staring only at him. Steel is still there, but it’s tucked away somewhere Iwaizumi can’t see.

“What do you want to know?”

A low hum as Lord Oikawa ponders. “You mentioned sea bream.”

“Have you ever tried it with noodles?”

“I don’t believe I have.”

The worst types of enemies are those you can’t talk to. It has nothing to do with different dialects or different languages, but with whole methods of communication. The ones who have already determined that a seam with them and others will always be frayed, who have already come to the conclusion that anyone intruding is beyond reason- those enemies will always remain distant and hostile. But as he talks, Oikawa’s eyes never move from him.

Maybe it’s just Lord Oikawa pretending as he fishes for weaknesses. Or maybe, as Iwaizumi quietly prays, maybe things aren’t truly hopeless.


	3. Edelweiss

Oikawa has eaten six kusamochi and fully intends to eat six more. His fingers twitch for another, but a spindly hand grabs it first. He’d normally try to fight, but he’s tired, so he musters up his best frown and doesn’t move from his place on the floor. “I was going to eat that.”

“Haven’t you had enough?” Kuroo asks, already two bites into the sweet that was supposed to be Oikawa’s.

“There’s never enough.”

He reaches for the very last kusamochi, but the plate is whisked out of his reach. Kuroo grins, bearing the tray right outside where Oikawa’s robes can stretch. “You can have the last one if you answer a question.”

Oikawa sighs, used to Kuroo’s antics by now. “Yes?”

“How’s the love life?”

“Right away with the intruding questions?” Kuroo answers with a grin and Oikawa scoffs, downing his sake. “This one’s different. He just might have more than one brain cell.”

“Wow. A single brain cell.”

“So it’s not terrible.”

“One whole brain cell.”

“Tetsurou, how you haven’t been barred from the court is beyond me.”

“Because,” Kuroo slings an arm around Oikawa’s shoulders, “if it wasn’t for the Nekoma clan, then you’d be short a lot of gifts and money. Like that cup you’re drinking out of, the cushions we’re sitting on, the mantle your swords rest upon…”

“Yes, yes.”

Anyone would be severely punished for acting so callously to the crown prince, but Oikawa’s known Kuroo since he was young and is the only to still refer to him with his childhood name. Even if the Nekoma clan had long lost succession rights to the throne, they had made themselves invaluable to the imperial family by taking up the bulk of economic affairs. It was security to the betterment of the clan to make sure the future head and the crown prince became friends— but familial schemes aside, Oikawa trusted Kuroo, and knew he was trusted in return.

“At least Kiyoko’s back now. She’s always good at listening.”

“Am I not good enough?”

“She doesn’t mess around as much.”

“I’m hurt,” Kuroo says, all teasing. He swivels the tray back to where Oikawa can reach and Oikawa snatches up the last kusamochi before Kuroo can change his mind. Oikawa stuffs the whole thing into his mouth so there can’t be any second thoughts, but that earns him a peal of laughter.

The door slides open and in walks the country’s finest warrior, her layered robes dressed in the many colors of autumn. She’s powdered her face white, and the long dark hair she normally keeps tied up now flows down her back.

Kuroo raises his eyebrows. “Now there’s a beauty.”

She gives him a quizzical look, having heard it all before. “You don’t need to flatter me.”

“But he means it. You’re a totally different person outside of your usual armor.”

Kiyoko picks at her robes. “I’ll never get used to all these layers. And you say that every time.”

“It’s true.”

“Don’t you start with the flattery too.” With a sigh, she sits elegantly next to Oikawa, hand swooping for a cup of sake. “It’s been a few months since we all last met,” she says after she’s taken her first sip, “but we’ve all been quite successful.”

“Our prince has won on the southern front, Kiyoko has protected the capital, and I’ve established a trading route between Aoba Jousai and Ouginishi,” Kuroo’s grin is real this time. “All in a good few months.”

Kiyoko raises her cup. “To our success.”

“Hear, hear.”

As they clink their cups together, Oikawa feels the knots in his back begin to unravel. Between the dust and dirt of war and the noose of courtship, he missed quiet moments like this. Even if it’s fleeting, something that can only exist in the confines of this room, he can savor this, just for a little while.

“So.” Kiyoko keeps her eyes level with Oikawa. “Another one.”

“Another one,” he sighs.

“That makes… eleven?”

“Fifteen.” Fifteen alphas who have come promising the world and asking that he give up his freedom in return, as if that was ever a fair trade.

“He seems tolerable. Most of your suitors they seem… well, they cling to you until they die…”

“Leeches, the word you’re looking for is leeches.” Oikawa bares his teeth, blood curdling at the thought. “Stupid is anyone who thinks they’re special- like they’re exceptions to the rule. They want a something—  _thing_ , like I’m a thing— nobody else can have to prove they’re above it all. They’re so surprised when they find out their chances are about as good as everyone else’s.”

“And that the game was rigged.” Kuroo shrugs. “Our prince has been complaining nonstop. It’s too different for someone to not want him at all.”

Oikawa crosses his arms with a huff. “I can’t say I dislike it. But it’s too different.”

Kiyoko nods, thinking. “I don’t suppose you could both pretend to be interested?”

“They could, sure.” Kuroo’s taken to twirling his cup on his finger. “But then his majesty from Murakumo would start talking about _heirs._ ”

“I’d sooner rip out my guts,” Oikawa coldly remarks. “It’s fine! I don’t mind remaining a bachelor forever! I’d rather like that!”

Kuroo gives him a pitying look and Oikawa chugs the rest of his drink. It’s not feasible, he knows it. If he wants to keep the throne, he’ll need someone by his side. His mother kept the throne because she’d been on it long enough when his father was still alive. He doesn’t have that luxury. He’ll need a partner, sooner or later. “I’m not opposed to marriage, just opposed to marrying anyone who thinks I’m there to be their latest toy. But this one— he’s different.”

“A try-hard?”

“No. He’s not interested.”

“At all?”

“At all! He didn’t know what I looked like! And when he finally saw me, he acted like it was the most ordinary thing in the world!”

Kuroo ever-ignores Oikawa’s tantrums and goes for another drink. “Isn’t that a good thing? I mean, he seems like kind of a pushover, but shouldn’t you be relieved that he’s not trying to climb all over you?”

“But I’ve never been spurned by anyone in my life!”

“Now that’s the most pathetic thing you’ve said,” Kuroo notes.

Oikawa flushes under his frown. “I didn’t mean it.”

“No, you did. Still pathetic, by the way.”

“Why do I keep you around?”

Kiyoko lightly coughs. “The prince’s pride issues aside—”

“Hey.”

“—it will be hard to execute someone if they’re not interested. He’ll keep his distance, and you can’t ward him off until he gets close. You’ll have to think differently.”

He can always count on Kiyoko to understand that he’s not looking for compromise. His citizens might understand his position, but outsiders only think of themselves. That won’t change anytime soon. It’s him or them, and he’s never been very fond of extending himself towards those that mean nothing to him.

Oikawa fixes a hard stare on Kuroo. “Get Kenma out of his room and tell him to summon the Kasha. I want to know everything about Lord Iwaizumi, down to how many times he breathes in a minute.”

Kuroo bows his head, a sly grin perking up his cheeks. “Going to dig up his secrets?”

“The faster he backs down, the better. I don’t care if he bows out or donates his head, as long as he’s away from me. He wants to dance? Alright, let’s dance.”

A thumping of feet drum down the hall as a silhouette comes to a screeching halt in front of the door. Yachi bows her head as she throws open the door. “Your majesty! My lord! Lady Shimizu! Please forgive me for intruding on your most noble discussion, take my head later!”

“Breathe,” Kiyoko says, and Yachi’s cheeks redden.

As commanded, she sucks in a small breath. “A messenger just arrived from the western palace. Lord Kageyama will be visiting.”

A dart of cold plunges through Oikawa’s neck. Grabbing his sword off the mantle, he bursts up and breaks into a sprint. Kuroo yells after him, but Oikawa is too far away to make out the words. He stumbles on the hem of his robes more than once but his charge is unrelenting as he scrambles towards the stables. The attendants give weak protests but Oikawa has already mounted his horse and charged out the main gates.

Heart beating wildly, he goads his horse to go faster, thrumming down the main road to the palace, and the only route Kageyama would take. Dust kicks up and clings to his robes, but he doesn’t care about the mud splatters on his socks or the white nicks on his face where branches have lashed out at him.

There’s only one easy route from the summer palace to the capital, so he knows where that caravan is supposed to be. Kageyama has dared to come back, and Oikawa would see him prostrate with a tearful explanation or sent scurrying back into the shadows where he belonged.

A drum of hooves pounds behind him and Kiyoko rides up to his side, her layered robes billowing behind her. She’s shed nine out of the twelve, and Oikawa can see the curves of her collarbone and scars peeking out from beneath the fabric, but even without her armor, her hands are tight against the reins. “Setting out alone? You’re really just waiting to get killed.”

Unless someone shoots him from afar, he won’t die. And even if he does, he knows Kiyoko will let one of those arrows against her legs fly deadly and true to avenge him.

“I knew someone would be behind me.”

“How quickly do you think I can change?” Kiyoko hits back. “You shouldn’t go running off like that.”

“I made it very clear to Tobio-chan that he’s not welcome anywhere nearby me,” Oikawa says, voice lethal and flat. “I thought he got the hint. If he thinks he can visit with barely any notice, he’s in for a surprise.”

Kiyoko glares sternly at him, and he knows not to say too much; she knows the story, all his temperaments and all, but she still rose from nothing thanks to the favor of the Karasuno clan. She’s always been more protective of their affairs than she should. “Even so, there’s no proof of treason.”

“I know, I know, I won’t kill him. Just humiliate him a little.”

“Your majesty is ever noble.”

“Sometimes I’m allowed to be terrible.” He hisses out, spotting the gathering on the horizon and snapping the reins.

It’s a much smaller group than he expected, with only a single palanquin in the middle, flanked by many guards. Several footmen, but he counts only five mounts. Karasuno has never been one for flare, but this is downright muted, even for them.

A single rider trots out, and Oikawa grimaces. Stress has given Sugawara Koushi gray hair early and wrinkles under his eyes, but he still sports that easygoing look that fools everyone around him. He’s no warrior—not with a sword, that is. “Lord Oikawa, how nice of you to come escort us to the capital.”

“I heard that we were getting guests. I just had to come see who it was.”

“Our messenger didn’t make it to the capital?”

“She did. But she was so, so late. Why the visit?”

Oikawa’s question doesn’t make Sugawara as much as bristle. “You’re a busy man, certainly. But have you forgotten? It’s the second week of spring. Your family’s games are at the start of the week.”

Ugh, right. He completely forgot about the games with all this nonsense happening at once. Still, he pushes back, “Why the interest this time?”

Sugawara nudges his horse back towards the palanquin. “Who knows? But who am I to question my lord?”

Sugawara always plays the innocent, acting like he’s a refreshing breeze, when in reality his talons are sharper than anyone else’s. Those talons became all the deadlier when he was appointed steward of Karasuno after a mishap on the battlefield claimed the lives of the previous clan leaders. It’s doubtful that he’ll try to put the imperial family in danger for the sake of his ambition, since Sugawara’s as much of a patriot as the rest of them. But if Oikawa’s forced to step down from the throne, Sugawara is going to try his hardest to make sure that Karasuno is next in line.

“Something on your mind?” Sugawara calls over his shoulder. “If not, we’d be very grateful if you could escort us to the palace. With you and Shimizu-gozen protecting us, we won’t have anything to worry about.”

Oikawa’s grip leaves creases along the bridle. “Yes. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

His mother gives him a glare from behind her sleeve, one that tells him to straighten his back and stop looking so sour. He obeys, but every crick of his spine brings nothing but weariness, the momentary enjoyment from the day before now long forgotten. Small miracles come in the fact that the Karasuno camp is too busy unpacking to join in on the meeting.

“What a lively place this is now. So many guests.” Lord Toshizo enters the room, bringing a harsh wind with him. “Are you throwing a party?”

Lord Iwaizumi is by his father’s side, flanked by two stern-looking servants. He is much more careful about how much space he takes up, tucking himself beside his father without disturbing anyone else.

“Something of the sort. Every year, the imperial family hosts a small archery exhibition. All in good fun.”

What his mother doesn’t say is how it’s anything but fun to Oikawa. He takes care to make sure that the Karasuno clan is nowhere near the palace for most of the year, but this is one of the few exceptions he must allow.

“I see.” Lord Toshizo crosses his arms over his chest. “Is this for citizens only?”

“I don’t see why it should be. Interested in participating?”

“Of course.”

His mother looks at Lord Iwaizumi. “And your son?”

Lord Iwaizumi flinches, caught off guard, but returns to composure. “I’m afraid my archery isn’t up to skill. I’d be a poor guest.”

“A shame.”

Oikawa can’t say that he’s too surprised. Murakumo is many things: self-sustainable is one, pacifistic is another. They haven’t been involved in any sort of invasion and stay away from conflict as much as they can. Lord Iwaizumi may be cautious, but he likely doesn’t know how to fight. And he thinks he can capture Oikawa like that? Ridiculous.

“From Aoba Jousai, I will be participating,” he announces, cutting Lord Iwaizumi’s moment short. “As will Shimizu-gozen.”

“And Lord Kageyama,” his mother adds.

Oikawa’s lips are pressed tight when he squeezes out, “And of course, Lord Kageyama.”

“The branch families are participating too?” Lord Toshizo looks to Kuroo, kneeling below the throne. “And what of Nekoma?”

“Ah, you see, the pride of the Nekoma clan is more in managing numbers, and less with a bow. I’d likely end up accidentally shooting the prince’s horse if I tried, and that wouldn’t make for a good festivity.” Kuroo looks between Oikawa and his mother, almost thoughtfully. “Your imperial majesty, I’m surprised to see the prince here today. He’s been working very hard, many tireless nights planning strategy on the battlefield.”

“And what do you propose?”

“Leave it to me, my lady. Lord Toshizo wishes to discuss economics, no? Let him see for himself how the Nekoma clan is peerless is handling our country’s finances.”

Oikawa’s mother scoffs, but she smiles through it. “Very well. The prince is dismissed.”

Oikawa bows low as he rises. Formality dictates that he walks slowly, but he wants to storm out the moment he feels Lord Iwaizumi’s eyes on him. They aren’t wanting or lecherous but probing, and he’s not sure which is worse. Keeping himself tall, he ignores it, knowing there’s no worse circumstance to a suitor than being ignored.

Footsteps pad ahead of him and when Oikawa sees who’s coming down the hall, he grimaces.

Kageyama is much taller than he last remembered, but is still just as wiry. The same old frown is still etched on his face, one that chips a little when he sees Oikawa in front of him. “Oikawa-san.”

“It’s been so long.” Thankfully. “Why don’t you come and drink with me?”

Kageyama stiffens and for a moment, he looks like a spindly tree. “Is that okay?”

“I’m not going to poison you. Come.”

Oikawa doesn’t touch Kageyama, as much as he wants to grab his younger cousin by the neck and drag him along the floor, scuffing up his jet-black robes with dust and dirt. No, he keeps himself composed and holds himself upright. And as always, Kageyama follows.

When they enter Oikawa’s room, Kageyama blinks at the emptiness of it. Oikawa’s belongings are neatly tucked away to the side, and the room is arranged sparingly. No servants or platters of food in sight.

“I don’t see any drinks.”

“There were never any,” Oikawa spits back. Typical Kageyama, taking everything at face value. He plops down, crossing his arms, and somehow Kageyama manages to read the mood enough to do the same.

It’s been three years since he saw Kageyama, before his presentation has been made public and the proposals started coming in droves. Things were easier back then, when he could just be annoyed with Kageyama for being clingy and dense, and not because people would look at them differently.

“What brings you all the way to the palace, Tobio-chan?”

Kageyama bristles at Oikawa’s callous mention of his birth name. He’s disputed it many times before, and his mouth is parted to dispute it again. Then he thinks about it and keeps quiet. “The annual archery contest is tomorrow.”

“You haven’t been to the contest in years.”

Stiffening up, Kageyama wrings his hands against his sleeves, knowing he’s been caught. Eyes on the tatami below him, he troubles himself thinking for a stretch of time. Then, “This suitor’s held out.”

“It’s only been a few days.”

Kageyama blinks at him, and Oikawa grumbles, thinking about how it’s true that some of suitors haven’t even lasted that long.

“Is he interesting?”

“No.”

“I want to meet him.”

“No.”

“Why not? We’ll be in the same place.”

“I don’t care.”

“Do you like him?”

Oikawa feels a geyser burst along his temple. “Want me to stitch your mouth shut?”

Kageyama frowns. “I’m going to meet him at the games anyway.”

“I don’t want him to meet my stupid, dead-eyed cousin. This isn’t a meet-the-family venture. He’ll stick around until he ends up dead. Which will happen, as you know.”

“He’s still alive now.” Kageyama says, dropping a stone in a still pond. “That’s more than usual.”

“Tobio-chan,” Oikawa weighs his words carefully, because if he doesn’t, he’s going to end up snapping Kageyama’s neck barely an hour in. “If you think I’m favoring that fancy new slave driver that calls himself a suitor, you’re wrong. I don’t know how you got the idea into your head, but you’re going to be disappointed.”

Kageyama’s face curdles up in a way that he doesn’t seem convinced.

“You’ll see.”

“Even if he ends up dying, he lasted this long. I want to see why.”

“No.”

“But—”

“What, so you can talk to him? Give him all my secrets so he can manipulate me, so I can get married off? Because then you have a chance at the throne, don’t you? All you have to do is get me out of the way. I know you’ve always wanted to be emperor someday. You can’t hide from me.”

Color drains from Kageyama’s face. “No, that’s not—”

“You’re a terrible liar.” He sees Kageyama begin to protest, but waves him off. “You can stay for the contest, but I still meant what I said last time. I don’t want to see you. Now get out of my room.”

Kageyama is the combative type, but he doesn’t try to fight back this time. Bowing his head, he gives a last, “See you at the tournament,” before leaving.

Oikawa hears the last of Kageyama’s footsteps vanish down the hall, and exhales all the poisons in his chest. Slumping back against the pile of blankets in the corner, Oikawa lets his weight fall against the pile until he’s half submerged.

 

* * *

 

It’s a sunny day with mild wind, the perfect weather for archery. All the nobility of the court line the course, backs straight in anticipation. It’s been a few years since all three families attended the event, so there are more guests than usual, even with the party from Murakumo scattered between them.

Oikawa’s chair is on the raised platform, and he’s the first one seated. The other three are still empty: Lord Toshizo has the first run of the day, and his mother and Lord Iwaizumi have yet to show up. Being all alone on the platform means that he has plenty of unwanted stares, but it’s still better to be early than late.

Seated around the right side of the platform are the representatives from the Nekoma clan, with Kuroo at the front. Lord Nekomata is absent, likely due to his ailing health, but Kuroo is skilled enough to take care of affairs in the meantime. If anything, he’s brought Yaku and Taketora to keep him in line. Kuroo also managed to somehow drag Kenma out of his room, and the younger man is sulking in a patch of shade.

On the other side of the platform sits the Karasuno clan, so Oikawa is blatantly avoiding looking in that direction. Kageyama is thankfully nowhere in sight, but Sugawara is still there, probably looking very unnervingly cheerful. At least the platform is keeping Oikawa away from them; small miracles.

Oikawa is fourth in line, so he still has time to catch his breath— so he thinks for a moment before Lord Iwaizumi arrives and sits right next to him.

“Do you have to sit here?”

“Do I look like I chose this spot?” Lord Iwaizumi shoots back, gesturing to the two seats clearly marked for those of a higher status.

Oikawa makes a retort, but behind Lord Iwaizumi is his mother, in greens harsher than the freshest buds. She takes her seat, and gives her son that crescent smile that says she knows all. He wouldn’t doubt it. “Are you two getting along?”

“As much as possible,” Oikawa replies.

His mother takes the sharpness of his answer with a nod of her head. Not to be unperturbed by anything. Oikawa’s always felt a sympathy for Lord Nekomata and the late Lord Ukai for having to deal with his mother in her younger years, when her ruthlessness could only be contained by the restrictions of the court. Maybe he can extend a little of that sympathy towards himself.

She raises her white fan elegantly, perfectly parallel to the ground; the signal to begin. At the starting point, the signalman swishes his red fan down, and Lord Toshizo begins his run with a thunder of hooves.

The first target doesn’t stand a chance as a loosed arrow bursts through it. As heavy as Lord Toshizo looks on his horse, there’s no questioning that he has skill. Oikawa is so focused on the run that he sees Lord Iwaizumi looking at him until a moment too long.

“Don’t want to see your father’s run?” he asks, barbs visible.

“Are you still sulking? I thought you’d be fine with me after our dinner.”

It wasn’t a bad dinner. Lord Iwaizumi did have some manners and truly meant what he said: they spent most of the dinner talking. No innuendos or unwanted advances, just the sincerity of a man who clearly wanted to know more about Oikawa’s home country. It’s been a long time since a suitor only was interested in talking to him, but Oikawa was able to talk about how wonderful his country his. His peerless homeland that he can never grow tired of being proud of. As pleasant as the conversation was, Oikawa can’t help but feel a prickle of unease at being in unfamiliar territory.

Oikawa also doesn’t like how Kuroo is craning his neck, clearly trying to eavesdrop.

“It was a pleasant dinner,” Oikawa admits. “You had fine manners.”

Iwaizumi snorts. “I didn’t do anything.”

Yes, he didn’t do anything, and Lord Iwaizumi clearly doesn’t understand how monumental that is.

“Why did you come?” Oikawa asks. “You could have easily made up a reason to bow out.”

“They say you’re an accomplished general.”

Oikawa’s eyes glitter like knives. “Don’t believe it?”

“I do. But how often is there a chance to see a practiced general show off their archery?” Lord Iwaizumi turns to him, slipping past the knives with ease. “I wouldn’t dare miss this.”

Oikawa starts to speak, only to realize that he doesn’t know what to say. After a second too long, he manages, “I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”

“What you said the other day wasn’t wrong; it’s unusual for an omega to go around taking heads on the battlefield. But you’ve made a name for yourself doing just that. If it was a ruse, you wouldn’t have offered to compete. I don’t doubt you.” Lord Iwaizumi leans in, speaking quietly enough that only they can hear. “You’re still a bachelor, aren’t you? You didn’t remain that way by chance. Show me what you can do.”

He could have pushed Lord Iwaizumi off the platform right there. Taken one of the pins he keeps in his robes and driven it straight into his side. Oikawa knows not to believe the belittling of those who only see smooth marble skin instead of a beating heart, but he’s not sure if this is encouragement or an insult. All he knows is how his veins howl like sparking dry wood, and he sees flames and the spray of broken ponds and torn flowers.

Oikawa lifts up the veils spilling from his wide-brimmed hat and lets Lord Iwaizumi see what a mistake he’s made to kindle a sun that can burn his bones black. “You want to see how I can kill? You really are a fool, aren’t you?”

“If that’s what you want to call it, fine. I said I wanted to get to know you, didn’t I? Or is the person who leads Aoba Jousai’s army a different person?”

A wave of murmurs ripple through the onlookers as Lord Toshizo finishes his run. From the sound of it, he hit every target with ease. And Oikawa couldn’t care less.

His mother raises her fan again, and signals for Kiyoko to begin her run. As much as Oikawa would love to stay and see her elegance tear through the targets, he has to get ready himself.

Standing, he bows to his mother to signal his leave, and turns to Lord Iwaizumi. A sneer peels back his lips to reveal smooth white teeth. “In that case, then I’ll dedicate my run to you.”

Even through the dread and shattering violence in Oikawa’s promise, Lord Iwaizumi is only amused. “I look forward to it.”

As he strides towards the starting area, the inferno pulses up his neck, he’s grinning beneath his veils, and how he wants to laugh at it all.

In the shade, he takes off his hat, for here he is away from prying eyes, even if the circlet and the curtains that fall from it will never leave his head in public. His mud-colored horse is waiting for him, already outfitted for the run. He puts his hand on her side, and she shakes her head, bored in the dullness of a performance and not the dynamism of the battlefield. He feels the same as he changes into the slim robes set aside for the run, but even in a performance there is war.

Low trotting interrupts his moment, and he’s just finished slinging his quiver on his waist when he hears, “Oikawa-san.”

The fire still burns, but it squeezes tight and becomes a precise blue. “What do you want, Tobio-chan?”

Short robes fit Kageyama much better than long court robes that sweep the floor. On his horse, bow in one hand and reins in the other, he looks much more at ease than in a stifling room. How Oikawa despises the fluidity that everyone says looks natural on Kageyama and eccentric on him.

Kageyama takes a short, stifled breath. “I was hoping you could watch my run. I’ve gotten much better.”

“I’m sure you have.”

Kageyama keeps watching him, and Oikawa sighs, knowing how the subtlety of language is often lost on some parties. “Of course I’ll be watching, I’m right behind you.”

Warmth brightens Kageyama’s face, even in the shadows of the stable. “I’ll do my best.”

If only Kageyama could keep his best far away from Oikawa.

Oikawa has a small moment of relief once Kageyama leaves, and mounts his horse with the flames still kindled. It’s been three years, and even if Kageyama had been raised to be brave, with his cheeks turned thinner while his limbs grew longer, he won’t take Oikawa’s glory away from him.

When Oikawa rides up to the starting gate, Kageyama looks at him, hand tight on his bow with a sparkling eagerness. He doesn’t smile, he never smiles, but he’s carried by the wind, even before the red fan falls.

With the breeze behind him, Kageyama is as refined as his arrowheads. Awkwardness falls away as he nocks his first arrow and sends it flying. One after the other the targets snap in half, and the crowd murmurs in approval. A perfect run.

As the groundskeepers replace the targets, Kageyama rides further down the track. Getting further and further until he’ll be too far away for Oikawa can hope to match. How soon until that happens?

“Ready?” the signalman asks him, and the haze retreats.

Oikawa steadies his grip on his horse’s reins and becomes razored steel.

Red drops towards the ground and Oikawa darts forward. Sixteen seconds until he’s in range for the first target. Twenty seconds between each one. Stationary targets are so much easier than moving soldiers.

The sun is high in the sky as Oikawa looses his first arrow and smashes through the target. As easy as breathing, he plucks his next arrow from his quiver, aims, and destroys the second. The third upcoming, he prepares his bow and pulls the string back fast enough to hiss through the air.

A pang in his guts echoes through his body, and twinges his stomach. Its sudden mercilessness slips Oikawa’s bow, and he winces. The loosed arrow soars, and lands on the very edge of the third target.

No, not now! Why now?

Gritting his teeth, he shoots the last target through.

As he slows to a stop, he hates how his organs dare to churn against his will. He squeezes his eyes shut, but the arrow is still there, shuddering in the earth behind the target.

Kiyoko is eyeing him with concern, and Kageyama looks like someone just swatted his head clean off. But worst of all is Lord Iwaizumi, who sits wide-eyed, confused as what he’s seeing is clearly impossible and curse him, he really did believe in Oikawa’s talent this whole time, and the storm rages behind Oikawa’s eyes and he thunders, “Once more!”

In the quiet that falls, all eyes are on him. Let them look at him for once, to see how that was nothing but a fluke. “The guests have flustered me more than I thought. Grant me one more run.”

He hears murmurs that it won’t make a difference and laughs of how he is what he is after all, and he’s numb down to his fingertips as he waits.

“I’ll allow it,” his mother’s voice echoes. “One more run.”

Trotting back to the starting gate, Oikawa’s face is stony with an intolerable pressure. He was stupidly excited, enough that he slipped outside his flesh and ignored how careful he has to be at all times.

Nose twitching, the signalman looks up at Oikawa, this time with concern. “Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, giving Oikawa one last out.

“I’m ready,” Oikawa replies.

The red fan arcs down like a spray of blood.

Oikawa takes off faster than the wind, and the shadows of his arrows are thin in the dust before they kill. He is untouchable, sunlight across a mirror, flying over the beaten path with death in hand, turning every square of wood into a corpse until none are left alive.

Behind him, in the crowd, there’s no sound but the birds in the trees. First to raise his fan is Kuroo, with Lord Toshizo next, rousing the crowd in silent approval. When he rides over, Kiyoko gives him a small nod, but straightens when she sees how Kageyama is about to fall over.

Between the pounding of his heart, Oikawa knows his manners and bows to his mother. There is no performance without respect.

“And something for your suitor?” hits his ears.

How they always like to goad him on, to humiliate him publicly. Nothing new.

Oikawa turns to Lord Iwaizumi, charming smile ready to dazzle. He pulls an arrow from his quiver, and holds it up to give it a kiss. He hears gleeful murmurs of approval from the Murakumo section, murmurs that don’t die down fast enough when he strings his bow and notches an arrow in one swift motion.

The arrow licks Lord Iwaizumi’s cheek before it thuds into the screen behind him. All goes quiet. Lord Iwaizumi doesn’t move, only stares at the satisfaction on Oikawa’s face.

“How stiff you are, my lord.” Oikawa sees him with such vividness; the shock that’s too powerful to beat back, the tenseness in his jaw as the skin beneath the arrow skim tastes bitter air. As that fear settles in, Oikawa is the happiest he’s been in weeks. “Shouldn’t you be happy that your beloved has won?”


	4. Peony

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned that there is some discussion of non-con elements in this chapter.

”Who could’ve thought an omega could move like that?” His father’s teeth sink into a pheasant leg, pulling the meat from the bone. “He’s got talent, that boy.”

The Murakumo generals all sit by their lord, trays of food before them. It was supposed to be a small celebration, but the fresh red line across their prince’s cheek turned the food rotten on their tongues.

“It’s almost gaudy,” one of the generals grumbles, sipping from her cup of sake. “Impressive, but this country is truly backward.”

A grunt of assent comes from the general next to her. “Who thinks of giving an omega a bow? Impressive or not, it’s shameful, that’s what.”

“Is that what you think?”

The unified complaints from the generals hush when their lord speaks. “Do you think otherwise, sire?” the same general asks.

“It’s no doubt crass, giving an omega and bow and a sword. But with that skill, there shouldn’t be underestimating him. He doesn't need to be an alpha to kill someone off-guard."

“Very true, my lord.”

Iwaizumi catches one of the generals glancing at the new mark on his cheek, a stare somewhere between worry, concern, and contempt. He’s been seeing that stare all yesterday, and there have been too many to count.

“I’m finished with my meal,” he announces. “Matsukawa, Hanamaki, accompany me to the gardens.”

“I’m not wasting this sake.” Hanamaki snatches up a half-filled gourd from the main tray before following his prince.

One of the halls overlook the chrysanthemum gardens, bright yellow carpets tousled by the slight breeze. Iwaizumi steps into the sunlight, not waiting for a servant to follow with an umbrella, letting the morning wash over him as the birds hum around him. He kneels by one of the stalks until he’s swallowed up by the endless, peaceful flowers and wishes he could just stay there forever, drifting.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki sit on either side of him, and Matsukawa lights his pipe, peace sifts across the three of them. Nothing but flowers, sunshine, and smoke.

“Did I mess up?” Iwaizumi murmurs. The curled petals swim towards his neck when the wind makes them curious. One stray petal laps at his wound, and bends back as if surprised.

“He did try to kill you,” Matsukawa points out.

“No, he didn’t.”

“Did you miss the part where he shot an arrow at your head?”

“If he meant to kill me, the arrow would be _in_ my head.” Iwaizumi plucks a handful of grass and lets the blades fall into the wind. “I thought I encouraged him, and it backfired. I just got him angry instead.” Goodbye, head. It was nice having an uncut windpipe while it lasted.

Hanamaki bumps shoulders with Iwaizumi. “Look, I don’t think that was on you. After Lord Oikawa’s run, I heard some jeers from our section. Maybe that was a retaliation.”

“So I can’t control my own people either,” Iwaizumi grumbles. “I don’t want to get killed, I don’t want to get married, but I have to get married and getting married means I’m dead.”

Matsukawa blows a plume of sweet-smelling smoke. “What are your impressions of the prince so far?”

“He’s not bad when we’re alone, but now maybe I shouldn’t speak to him when there are other people around.” He drops his head lightly against the chrysanthemum stalks, letting the swell of yellow overtake him. “He’s on the defensive whenever I talk to him, like he’s testing me, waiting to see what I do. And he never says it, but I can feel every time he looks at me, he’s promising to kill me in all sorts of horrible ways. But,” the edge whittles away from his voice, “he’s really interesting.”

Lord Oikawa on his horse, eyes burning brighter than the sun in the heavens, his words sweet and his face as ruthless as the bow in hand that loosed that sharp arrow and he laughs, the most beautiful and bewitching ashura.

Of course, if he ever lets Hanamaki or Matsukawa know those thoughts, he’d never hear the end of it.

His two friends study the expression on his face, exchange glances, and let out a long, “I seeeeee.”

“You know I hate it when you do that, right?”

“That’s on you, dear prince.”

Matsukawa nurses his pipe in thought. “Actually, that’s good. Before, it sounded like you didn’t like him at all and just wanted to go home. But if you’re interested, that’s a different story.”

Hanamaki nods in agreement. “At least thanks to the fifteen dead before you, we know what doesn’t work.”

“And what’s that?”

“Force.” Hanamaki slings an arm around Iwaizumi, having never quite gotten the message that touching a royal is rude. “You’re a strong guy, and real stubborn in your own way. Not grudge-stubborn, but firm-stubborn. That’ll keep you alive, but it won’t win you any hearts.”

“Be smart,” Matsukawa’s even tone is ever-calming. “Adjust to the circumstances. Sometimes, to swallow bitter medicine, you need to make it sweet.”

It’s good advice. It’s not enough to be courageous, he has to be smart about it too. “You’re right. The medicine is marriage and the sweetness… it has to be me.”

“And that’s why the queen barred you from poetry readings.”

“Really, you have no way with words.”

“Why am I friends with you two again?”

Stone patters as someone approaches them, and he recognizes the blonde omega servant and her nervous, wide eyes. Her strides are small but hurried as she hops onto the cut of dirt and comes into a flurried halt in front of them. They stand, waiting for her to catch her breath. “Lord Iwaizumi! And um…” She looks frantically between Matsukawa and Hanamaki, not knowing how to address them.

“As you can see, I am the Minister of the Right.” Hanamaki turns his tone into something more regal.

“And I am the Minister of the Left.”

“I-I— Forgive me! I had no idea I was in the presence of such esteemed people!”

“Ignore them, they’re lying,” Iwaizumi says, before she might actually believe them. Her name was Yachi, right? “What news do you have?”

She goes rigid, back straight as a pole. “I have been instructed to serve as your guide in Aoba Jousai. I will be accompanying you for the length of the trip.” She bows low on her knees, touching her head to the floor. “My name is Yachi Hitoka, and I would be honored to serve you!”

“Spy? Spy.” Hanamaki whispers in one ear.

Matsukawa looks at Yachi’s clasped hands and how they tremble, at how her eyes are stretched wide even though none of them have said anything bad. “Maybe not.”

“Aren’t you Lord Oikawa’s handmaiden?” Iwaizumi asks. She seems like a nice enough girl, but she already has a high position in the palace servant hierarchy. There’s no reason for her to take up duties to improve her rank.

“I am, yes! I serve his majesty. His majesty can vouch for my work, even if I’ve never been an ambassador before… but um! Someone had to instruct you on the ways of our country and I volunteered! I’d very much like to pay my debts from before, if you’d allow me.”

The assassin that was after her. Of course.

“Would the crown really let go of the prince’s handmaiden, even for diplomacy?” Iwaizumi whispers to his friends.

“It might, for this one.”

“You know her?” Iwaizumi asks Hanamaki.

“No, but look at her.”

Iwaizumi considers this for a moment, and then understands. She very well could be a spy, but he’s not going to talk about anything important around people he doesn’t trust deeply. Besides, he’s realizing he needs more cultural catch-up by the day. “I see. I accept your proposal.”

She brightens, radiant like the flowers around them. “Thank you very much! I will do my best!”

“Actually, you came at a good time,” Matsukawa says. “We’re in need of a guide.”

“Oh! Instruct me where to go, and I’ll take you there!”

Hanamaki holds up a finger, teacher mode active. “What’s the best place to go to find out what a country is like?”

“Um… to the palace?”

“Nope. Anyone can find out what the laws and government is like. I’m talking about what the _country_ is like. The people, not just those in power.’

“Oh! A port!”

“That’s pretty good, but the capital is landlocked. Something easier than that- I’m talking about a marketplace. You can see what everyone can afford, rich and poor. What food’s being served, the goods for sale, all of that is out without you having to be sneaky. Our prince here needs a desperate cultural introduction. And that’s where you come in.”

Yachi falters, and Iwaizumi’s reminded of how tall Hanamaki and Matsukawa are in comparison to her. A tremor runs through her legs and she squeaks, “Me?”

“You’re our cultural ambassador, right?” The cloud of smoke from Matsukawa’s mouth makes his teeth glimmer as he smiles. “You’ll be an excellent tour guide.”

Hanamaki tilts his head in amusement, all charm among torn pine needles. “The crown prince’s handmaiden would surely know all the best places to shop, right?”

There’s something about how Yachi wriggles like gravity is crashing down on top of her that makes Iwaizumi wonder why he chose these two to be his friends. “If would be really helpful, if you don’t mind.”

Yachi shifts from a reed in a typhoon to a spindly branch.

“Yes, that’s right!” Hanamaki chirps, snagging onto the shift. “Our prince is so helpless when it comes to Aoba Jousai culture, he needs a good introduction. You can definitely show us around well.”

“Agreed,” Matsukawa chimes in. “Lord Oikawa handed you to us because he trusts you. That means he trusts your judgment.”

“You’re right… yes, you’re right! His majesty gave me a task to do, and I should do it!” Yachi sucks in a deep breath, and steadies herself. “I’ll do my best!”

Matsukawa and Hanamaki grin at him from behind her. Demons, the both of them.

“Let’s set out in an hour,” Matsukawa says. “You think you’ll be ready by then?”

“Of course! I’ll go get ready!” Yachi leaves a blur behind her as she dashes away. How anyone can move that fast in those robes is beyond him.

“I think you were both oni in a previous life,” Iwaizumi says when she’s far down the path.

“Oni that help you,” Hanamaki points out.

“Also an hour? I need escorts if I’m going out of the palace. We have to tell my father, and get some soldiers with us on the trip.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ve already informed him.”

“Oni.”

They haven’t gotten ten steps into the palace before a voice stops them dead short. “Will you be heading out soon, Lord Iwaizumi?” Tanginess cuts his nose before he sees the autumn colored robes and long obsidian hair. Shimizu-gozen glides towards them, her impassive sternness heavy as armor.

He nods his head in respect. “If all goes as planned.”

“I see.” She tilts her eyes up towards him, and the grays of her eyes icy in the sunlight. “Yachi usually resides in the palace. She doesn’t travel with our lord when he goes into battle.”

So even if she knows the places intellectually, she doesn’t usually visit them herself very often. “I see.”

“I’m sure our prince has reminded you, but she is to be returned unharmed, just the way that she left the palace.”

“Understood.”

Shimizu-gozen nods. “Excellent. Now, if you’d excuse me.”

Hanamaki and Matsukawa follow her with their eyes. “Yikes. Scary prince, scary woman. Is the handmaiden the only one who isn’t terrifying?”

 

* * *

 

All is precise in the capital, even after they leave the massive palace grounds. With the sun relaxing behind the clouds and the spring wind more merciful, Iwaizumi doesn’t even need much beyond a layer over his travel robes. He wasn’t paying much attention the last time he left the grounds, and he was too nervous to look out of the palanquin when he first came into the country, but now he realizes that was a mistake. The roads are straight and cared for, and it’s very easy to tell where they’re heading. Wide avenues large enough for carts to pass through with ease cross to make a careful grid.

As he passes by some of the houses in the residential area, he catches a strange acrid smell. He doesn’t spot any dark smoke, but the smell is overpowering. “What is that?” he calls behind him.

Yachi sits behind Matsukawa, clinging to his robes as she eyes the ground, worried about falling and being trampled. It’s pretty unlikely that a servant would know how to expertly ride a horse, after all. “It’s,” she hesitates, “a charm for infertility.”

“Omegas usually live together?”

“No, families usually live as units. But charms don’t affect alphas, and only betas if they’re reacting to alpha hormones.”

In any other country, signaling such a thing would make the household easy targets for some eager alphas. In Aoba Jousai, that would send any offender to the chopping block pretty quick, but even that fact alone won’t make it an impossibility.

It’s a strange smell, but if it’s normal in this country, he supposes he should get used to it.

The market isn’t far from the edge of the palace grounds, sitting close to the city gate where the merchants can get their carts in with ease, but also relatively close to the residential area. Storefronts have opened their doors for the day, and eager shoppers carefully inspect the items on display. A beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds turn the colored fabrics goods are displayed on even more vibrant shades than normal. For all the muted colors of the palace, the marketplace is anything but reserved, and a cool wind blows green through the shops.

The precision of the capital is no doubt impressive, but what surprises Iwaizumi the most is how many omegas he spots walking freely in the streets without an escort in sight. Some walk linked to their significant others, but most are by themselves.

“Omegas don’t need escorts?” he asks Yachi as Matsukawa helps her down.

“No, not unless they want one. There’s always asking a family member, but it’s not mandated by law, no.”

“You’re not afraid?”

“I’m afraid of everything.”

Iwaizumi picks his words carefully. “Do omegas not worry about going out on their own?”

“No more than usual.”

“Which means unusual.”

Yachi swallows, sidestepping racks of fluttering kimono tousled by the breeze. “Allow me to speak. This place is unusual, yes, but I don’t think unusual is necessarily a bad thing.”

Before Iwaizumi can answer, Yachi’s caught sight of a figure in the crowd. “Ah! Lord Kenma!”

A young beta turns at Yachi’s call, his pale face gloomy under the bright sun overhead. His robes are dried blood overlapped with the shadows at the bottom of a deep lake. There are three other people with him, armed with spears, and one woman is holding an umbrella over his head, even on a mostly overcast day.

Red and black. “Are you from the Nekoma clan?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Not by blood. Retainer would be the closest word.” Kenma’s voice comes no louder than an exhale to blow dust off an old scroll. The dark circles under Kenma’s eyes make him lost to time. As he picks up a sheet of paper and holds up to the light, his sleeve slips down and reveals a bony wrist.

“What brings you here, Lord Kenma?” Yachi wrings her hands, trying to ease out the nervousness with some other distraction. “Don’t you get your shipments directly to the palace?”

“Usually. But there was an emergency.”

“W-What emergency?”

“The last shipment of paper was no good.”

Yachi blinks mutely. “Paper?”

“It was too gummy. What a mess.”

“If the fibers are too loose, it won’t hold the ink,” Iwaizumi explains.

Kenma peers into his face. He doesn’t smile, and even though Iwaizumi stands above him, he feels the endless stretch of winter before him. “Lord Iwaizumi of Murakumo. Are you enjoying our market?”

“It’s nice.” Iwaizumi places Kenma’s face- one of Kuroo’s retainers at the drinking party. “You were with Nekoma-no-Kuroo.”

“You remember.” Kenma breaks their stare, returning the paper back to its place on the merchant’s table. He taps the edge of his closed fan on a sample of paper on display, and one of the people with him steps forward to pay. “Are you enjoying our country?”

“It’s different. But different doesn’t mean bad.”

“I see. Enjoy your shopping.” Kenma gives a small bow and turn his back to them. He sews himself into the crowd, settles into place, slips between the threads of people and dissolves, entourage and all.

“He’s not one for conversation,” Yachi explains. “That’s how he always is…”

Iwaizumi feels the wind shaking him even though there’s nothing but a breeze across the rooftops. He feels warmth when Hanamaki clasps his shoulder and shoves skewered mochi under his nose, kinako powder falling over his sash.

“Lighten up, your majesty. You’re really going to stare at paper all day?”

Matsukawa already has a box behind him, filled to the brim with goods, no doubt. They’re fast, he’ll give them that.

They’re right, he came here to explore, and he’s not going to do that just standing there. Shaking the chill from his mind, he gestures towards Yachi and follows her down the crowded streets.

Even with her shaky voice, Lord Oikawa’s choice in her isn’t unwarranted. She easily picks out the stalls with the best food. Lots of meat and fowl laid out on straw mats, but little fish, as he expected. Sculpted earthenware stood by white porcelain in a stall right beside rows of hanging furs. Two betas crowd over a stand selling woven baskets, the merchant pitching the quality of his goods. Horses are lined up in a makeshift stable further down, ready to be sold to a new owner.

He sees a merchant handing off a bundle of flowers of what looks close to foxtails to an omega woman. Looking at the contents left in the cart, they seem to be in high demand. Making his way over, the merchant selling them straightens up as soon as she notices his fine clothes. “I’m humbled by your choice, sir. Buying for your omega love?”

Maybe the language of flowers is different between their countries, because he has no idea what any of the plants in the bouquets are. But if they’re specifically for omegas, then they might be a good gift.

“One bundle,” he says, and one of his soldiers steps forward to hand over some coins.

 

* * *

 

The soldiers are out in the main courtyard again. Iwaizumi really thinks he might have underestimated just how much Aoba Jousai soldiers prepare for combat. Each shout reverberates thunder down Iwaizumi's chest, and he feels mystified and fearful. Six pairs spar in the middle of a large ring of soldiers, all watching and calling out mistakes once each match finishes.

As for Lord Oikawa, he's in the training ring along with the rest of them. Iwaizumi watches transfixed as the prince kicks up dirt with the side of his foot, keeping his posture perfect as he deflects blows left and right. One sharp lunge and he slaps the side of a soldier's hand with his shinai, one that would have severed the muscles in her hand had the bamboo blade been real steel.

"You hesitate too much," Lord Oikawa tells her. "There is no hesitation in war. Strike with all you have—" He twists out of the way, and her shinai dents the soil when she slams it down. "Yes, just like that!" Before she can swing her shinai up again, Lord Oikawa has arced his shinai down against her ribs, tapping lightly before the blow. "Don't leave yourself open after one swing either."

The golden circlet still rests atop his head. That’s some commitment, keeping only one eye in full focus. After all, Lord Oikawa’s not blind. Iwaizumi’s heard many stories of injury, as common for the battlefield, but he would’ve definitely heard if the prince of Aoba Jousai had been blinded on one side. Vanity, then? The intrigue of not knowing? Iwaizumi can’t say for certain, but he knows for sure as he watches Lord Oikawa whirl his shinai around with vicious precision, every turn of his body lifting the fabric but not enough to see what lies underneath, that he has to find out.

He can respect such dedication to battle, but he doesn't have much of a part in it. He's more than content to watch their exercises from the shade of the castle. Still, he finds himself dawdling, hoping he can catch just a glimpse of the secret hidden beneath the veil.

"Are you content with our display, Lord Iwaizumi?" He thought he was far enough away, but then that striking eye is upon him.

"It's very impressive," he admits, the truth.

"Have you seen war?"

"You know we're a nation of pacifists."

"Indeed. But it’s so dull to just watch, isn’t it?" Lord Oikawa raises his shinai over his head, tapping the length of it on his shoulder. His eyes meet Iwaizumi’s, and a glint shines from within. “How about you?”

“Me?”

“Of course! I didn’t see your talent with the bow, only your father’s. And with all due respect, I am not marrying your father.” A slow smile creeps up his face, and even though it looks pleasant, Iwaizumi knows this is a glimmer reserved only for a predator. “Why don’t you have a match with me?”

If he wants to get his teeth knocked out, maybe. "Fight an accomplished general? I don't think so."

"Afraid?"

"More like I'm aware of reality. A fight like that would be one-sided. We both know you're the superior fighter."

"You admit it?"

"I'm no general, Lord Oikawa. I know my limits. And I'm not going to be your training dummy."

"Training dummy?"

"You may be sparring with your soldiers, but I am not one of your soldiers."

"I see." Lord Oikawa smiles, and Iwaizumi doesn't like the way his teeth trap the light in its corners. Something about it sends a stream of irritation down his temples. “In that case then, consider this just in good fun! This isn’t a fight where we make contact, after all. Accomplished general or not, I’m not going to strike you, so you don’t have to worry about bruises later.”

This is a trap. Lord Oikawa wants humiliation, to show that he is the superior one of the two. Doing that is easy, all he'd have to do is knock Iwaizumi around a little in front of the military. As Lord Oikawa stands in the middle of the circle, sweat illuminating a sheen down his sharp cheeks, a sunbeam nicking his long eyelashes and turning them honeyed in the light, Iwaizumi _knows_ this is a trap.

His eyes fall on the shinai in Lord Oikawa’s hand, how it’s much thinner than the others’, even mildly splintering now. He’s rolled the sleeves of his kimono up, and those arms don’t belong to someone that reads documents all day. Neither can be done in a day, not even hours, weeks...

“Alright, let’s have a match.”

“You won’t regret it.”

Yachi returns from his room with his practice robes, and even if she’s too flustered to help him change, she securely ties the knots shut. “His majesty takes practice very seriously,” she warns him. “It’s not a game to him.”

“I know. I’m counting on that.”

Worry rolls off Yachi in waves, but her lips are tight.

When he makes his way back into the circle, the other pairs have stopped sparring, standing by the sides to watch instead. Lord Oikawa waits for him in the middle, the sun illuminating his back and spreading his figure across the courtyard. Iwaizumi’s blood runs cold, but he swallows his fears as he steps in.

One of the soldiers hands him a shinai, and he gives it a cursory swing. It’s not weighted, the edges are smooth; it looks normal, no tricks.

“First to four points,” one of the soldiers proclaims, and they stand the proper distance apart, shinai held aloft, the points crossed against each other.

Iwaizumi swings up, Lord Oikawa is already there, the flat of his shinai against Iwaizumi’s throat. A split-second decision and his windpipe could’ve been cut clean through. He doesn’t smile, but his eyes upturn just a little as he taps the side of Iwaizumi’s neck gently with his blade. Having been whirled around in the air for an hour, the length of the bamboo is cool against his skin. Iwaizumi makes a sound. “You’re pretty good,” he says to hide the rapid drum of his heart.

“Of course.”

“One point for his majesty.”

They retreat, flowing back into starting position.

The next time Iwaizumi keeps his stance firm, driving forward towards Lord Oikawa’s wrists. Lord Oikawa steps back, and bamboo meets bamboo. The impact sends Iwaizumi back to reposition himself, but before he can strike again, Lord Oikawa has driven his shinai right between his eyes. A tap drops cold against his forehead, and Iwaizumi knows he lost that point too.

“Two points for his majesty.”

They haven’t stayed in the starting position for a second before Lord Oikawa aims a blow towards Iwaizumi’s head. Iwaizumi ducks out of the way this time and realizes with sudden harshness that he’s made things more complicated. Before he can right himself fully, Lord Oikawa lunges. Faster than a hornet, his shinai slaps the soft side of Iwaizumi’s left arm and arcs around to strike a line across Iwaizumi’s stomach. The sensation fizzes like a wick being lit, and Iwaizumi stumbles back, still feeling the fiery line beneath his robes. Had that been steel, he’d have been disemboweled on the spot.

Lord Oikawa raises back up his full height, looking Iwaizumi dead in the eye as he does so. He smiles then, all the ferocity of a strangling vine. “Even if you’re from a pacifist country, I expected more.”

“Three points for his majesty.”

One more point and he loses. He doesn’t mind losing, but he does mind losing to that smile.

Lord Oikawa moves first this time, and when he does, Iwaizumi catches his foot before he can make a full step. He stumbles, and Iwaizumi takes that fleeting second of being off-balance to sweep his leg forward, sending Lord Oikawa teetering. He drops his shinai against Lord Oikawa’s chest and pushes him down to the ground, pressing the tip against his throat.

He hadn’t been able to smell Lord Oikawa before, but he does now, of a sharp tanginess only matched by the tart of plum and the breath of a summer’s day and the deep green of moss that spreads and drowns in its abyssal presence and it’s heavenly, maddeningly heavenly—

If he falters here, he’d look like a fool. He keeps the point of the shinai fast against Lord Oikawa’s neck, keeping the brunt of his desires down. “We’re pacificts, not defenseless.”

Lord Oikawa has paused, eyes wide, a flat stone in the grass that springs to life, knocking back Iwaizumi and his shinai with it. “You’re right.” Amazement and annoyance both battle in his tone.

Apart from each other, blood pumping and eyes flaring, they close the distance in a second. Blow after blow is blocked, dust whirling around their sandals as each clash breathes and exhales. Lord Oikawa pivots on his feet behind Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi snaps his shinai back into resting position and thrusts it behind him. The thud of Lord Oikawa’s sword against Iwaizumi’s back resonates with the grunt from the prince’s lips as Iwaizumi’s shinai drives straight into his gut.

Dull pain aches through them as they both skid away from each other, glares clashing, waiting for the judgement.

“His majesty landed first. Match call.”

Iwaizumi releases the long breath he kept locked in his throat, the cool of his breath clashing against the heat of his pulse. His back aches, but beneath the soreness is a deep satisfaction. “That was impressive,” he concedes.  

“You’re not going to request a rematch?” Lord Oikawa asks, eyebrow raised.

“No, that was enough. I was right, you really are a genius.”

A storm eclipses the sun. “A genius, huh...”

“Maybe genius is the wrong word.” Iwaizumi quickly waves the clouds away, handing the shinai back to one of the soldiers. “Talented, for sure. That was a fine demonstration.”

Lord Oikawa pauses, eyes narrowing in suspicion, waiting for something mysterious that Iwaizumi isn’t sure he can deliver on.

“Now if you’d excuse me, I think I’ve taken enough of your time.” He bows his head and takes his walks back towards the palace, leaving the curious soldiers and the stunned prince behind.

 

* * *

 

“You didn’t have to fight him.”

Yachi is nimble and careful in applying salve on the bruises, a practice she’s no doubt perfected in tending to her warrior prince. Iwaizumi’s grateful for that, as he has a feeling his servants would be rougher with their handiwork.

“No, I did.”

“Why? U-Unless you enjoy that sort of thing, in which case I apologize—”

“No! No, it’s not that. It’s…” It sounds silly in his head and even more ridiculous out of his mouth. With a long sigh, Iwaizumi admits, “It’s how he talks.”

“Talks?”

“Okay, not talking-talking. But you know how some people are passionate about certain things, enough that they light up like the heavens when they talk about them? That’s their language, the easiest way to get to who they are deep down. Your lord’s an accomplished general, he’s made battle a prized skill. You can tell he’s trained all his life to get to this point. Combat is his language.”

Yachi makes a sound in her throat as she rubs the salve across a bruise beneath his shoulders. “Whoever told you that is very smart.”

“That would be my sister.” Nariko always knew how people worked, even when they were young. Nariko would be a much better king than he’d ever be.

“That makes you smart too!”

“I guess. You don’t have to flatter me. I should be flattering you- you were very helpful today.”

“I don’t think I was a good guide…”

“You were. Thank you.”

Silence grows in the space behind him. Her fingers have slowed, and he doesn’t need to turn around to know she has stilled. “Ah… thank you very much...”

“You don’t need to say thank you to a thank you.”

“I know that! But um…” He turns so she can reach the old scar on his face and sees how her eyes are wide but very, very tired. “It’s very unusual for royals to thank servants. Much less an alpha to an omega…”

“There’s nothing wrong with listening to servants.”

“Not to be rude but… that is a minority opinion.”

“Maybe. But it shouldn’t be.” But even that was an opinion he had to learn.

It was a hard lesson.

Even if alphas stood above betas and omegas, it’s not to say that he wasn’t in contact with them. He was a prince after all, he’d been raised by omegas all his life. At seven, he was too young to have a beta harem, so all of the servants that took care of him were omegas. He understood there was a divide between them on multiple levels, but Nariko had always reminded him to be kind, so he treated them like his friends. They were his earliest friends in a way, as Hanamaki and Matsukawa hadn’t made their way into the capital yet.  

Out of all his servants, his favorite was Yuda; a sensitive but kind omega who snuck honey into Iwaizumi’s soups and could beat anyone in a game of kemari any day. He was a timid one, and hated public events. His servants were always around, so Yuda was a constant presence in his life- until one morning, he was gone, and nobody would tell Iwaizumi why.

He was young, so he often got non-answers or vague deflections, but he was persistent down to his bones, and soon pinned the truth down. Omegas of humble birth gathered in the palace were there to fulfill their roles, whether it be by being servants, nursemaids, or any household tasks. The palace may be generous, but it also had no need for those who didn’t contribute. Omegas who could no longer fulfilled the roles they’d been originally tasked with or quite simply could be easily replaced, were either sent back home to their families with the wages they’d earned- and sometimes, awarded as brides to government officials.

One of his other servants, Shido, had spent weeks teaching himself how to read, specifically to make himself indispensable to the palace. But Yuda hadn’t been so lucky. A high-ranking military officer had taken a liking to him, and had requested him. The request had been granted, for all Yuda had going for him was that the prince said he was nice, and the prince liked many of his servants. He was one of many.  

All things considering, Yuda had a rather cute face. His hesitance in following Iwaizumi to public events was something Iwaizumi chalked up to shyness, but it was precisely so he’d be away from situations where anyone could take a liking to him. But Iwaizumi had assumed incorrectly, and had asked Yuda to accompany him to the riverside boat races— the same place where the military officer had caught sight of him.

He was a fool. He took things for granted and didn’t listen, and it was all his fault.

“I learned some lessons early,” he admits. “Just because I’m a prince doesn’t mean I can’t be reasonable. I’m no god, but I’d rather be someone approachable.”

Yachi goes lax for the first time since he saw her, as if comforted by a warm wind. “You’re very kind.”

“You think so? Everyone tells me I’m too soft.”

“It’s not usually kind people that take interest in his majesty.” Yachi pats his back to indicate that she’s done, and packs the containers into a wide box. The edges of the wooden box is considerably worn down on the sides, and only stands out more from the red skin under Yachi’s nails. “Are you interested in his majesty?” Iwaizumi swallows, and that’s enough to send Yachi into a panic. “I apologize, that was far too forward of me, please forgive my rudeness!”

Iwaizumi heats up, down to the tips of his ears. He’d forgotten how uncomfortable straightforward questions were. “He’s a very interesting person.” He could go without the blatant hunger to see his head slide off his shoulders though. But if Oikawa could put that aside for even a little bit, then he’d be faced with a beautiful general whose mind is sharp as his sword. That would set anyone’s skin on fire.

“You don’t… hate his majesty?”

She could be a spy, but he doesn’t mind if Lord Oikawa finds out about this. “Hate? No. The arrow was a bit much though. Well, I wouldn’t mind being married to him. But before even thinking about marriage, I want to know what he’s like. Even if he could be a little less hostile.” He’ll keep the impressions of his beauty to himself for now.

“I see. I see! That’s…” Something soft flutters over her features, muted by the candlelight. “That’s good.”

Pushing the issue wouldn’t help. It’s the first inkling of an assurance he’s gotten since he came to the capital, anything that wasn’t hushed warning. Anything that reminded that his task might not be entirely in vain.

“I can ask you something in return, right?”

“Oh, of course! Ask away!”

“What’s someone from the far north doing in the capital of Aoba Jousai?”

The box in Yachi’s hands dips. “How did…”

“Your hair. It’s unusual to see people with golden hair this far down. But that’s not the case for the northern territories, is it? You’re Lord Oikawa’s handmaiden, but you don’t sit with the others in court. You’re not in the court at all. That would be unusual— unless, of course, you were a foreigner.”

Yachi’s fingers touch down a lock of her hair, and in the dim of the room, the long strands radiate like sun-lit wheat. “Yes… that’s right. I was born in Takadani.”

The former kingdom of Takadani is all the way up north. One of Lord Oikawa’s former suitors was a prince from Takadani, and he met his untimely end very quickly. Hanamaki and Matsukawa didn’t give him the full details, for hearing them just might make him sick. “Were you brought in as part of the entourage?”

Yachi’s fingers crease along the box edges. “…An omega handmaiden would be a fine companion for an omega prince. Omegas fundamentally understand each other, after all.”

“But you’re not nobility.”

“I-I would never presume to be!”

It’s not an uncommon practice to pull in handmaidens from other places. If there’s a shortage in the court, then a summons would be sent out for peasant families to submit any unmarried omegas to the palace for inspection. To be gifted to a prince of a foreign country would mean being torn from the homeland. He doubts that even the most hungry of noble families would be so quick to send off their prized omegas to do such a task. And there is no commoner that can defy a noble.

Even if Takadani is now part of Aoba Jousai, it’s no small distance away. The handmaiden to the crown prince wouldn’t be so freely allowed to leave the palace for security purposes alone. “I’m sorry.”

Yachi swallows. “It’s… it’s not so bad now. As long as I work hard, I’m fed rather well. My wages are good enough that I can send money back home to my family. Lord Oikawa is gentle, far more than expected…”

“More than your old master.”

Yachi’s teeth sink into her bottom lip. She looks like a rumpled piece of paper. “When we first arrived here, I was mostly in charge of unpacking and airing out the clothes. But I also served dinner. It was mostly the usual meals, but during a private dinner with his majesty, his highness served a new dessert. I didn’t know what it was, so I obeyed.”

“A poison?”

“Yes… an aphrodisiac.”

Iwaizumi’s throat goes dry.

“It didn’t take hold right away. When it did, I got up to get a doctor, or to tell the guards outside to go find one, but his highness stopped me. He said…” She pauses, her eyes growing wider in the dark. White has spread across her face like too many layers of powder. “He said that…”

“Stop.”

Yachi flinches, her knuckles gone pale as she grips her robes. She looks at him like he’d slapped cold water on the sides of her face.

“You don’t have to tell the story if you don’t want to.”

Her breath catches, fingers going dead in her sleeves. With a pause, she says at last, “Thank you, but no… no, I should…” She finally finds her breath and keeps it deep in her chest. “His highness is long dead. And his majesty always tells me that nobody can hurt me here, not even ghosts. I… I can do this.”

Even if the theaters were filled with stories of tragedy, those were on stage, not in someone’s past. Still, he’s not going to spit on a young girl’s resolve. Cautiously, he gestured for her to continue.

“His highness told me that I should watch very carefully, and so that I could learn… for later on.”

How inhumane. It’s not entirely unheard of for royals to build their harems early, but even thinking about it makes Iwaizumi sick to his stomach.

“The rest I don’t remember perfectly, but—”

“Don’t force yourself.” He’s not sure if he even wants to hear the rest.

“Oh!” Her cheeks go a little rosy. “No, it’s not because of… more like, it happened so fast.” Before Iwaizumi can open his mouth to ask, Yachi squints at his robes. “Your obi are wider than ours. Ours are,” she holds up her hand, tracing the length of the fingertip to her wrist. “Maybe this long?”

“That is a little thinner than ours, yeah,” Iwaizumi replies, not entirely sure where she’s going with this.

“I don’t think yours would work as well. The obi from our country are just wide enough to fit around a neck.”

Ah.

“I don’t know how long I sat there, but it was over and his majesty was exhausted and his highness wasn’t moving.”

There’s no way his imagination can match up to her reality. What a terrible way to be introduced to a new country. More importantly, “But wasn’t Lord Oikawa drugged?”

“He was, but he told me later he recognized what it was he was eating.”

If you swallow poison knowing what it will do to you, you can prepare yourself for the results. “But how could he tell?”

“Lord Kuroo is quite the herbologist, and is very enthusiastic about his sharing his findings.”

The head of the Nekoma clan that reviews the country’s finances would be familiar with even the most obscure plants. What was so foreign to most people would be trivial for Lord Oikawa.

Her voices goes faint, her face uneasy. “I thought- I was next. Maybe not at that very moment, but soon. Maybe the next day.”

It would be the most efficient way to do things from Lord Oikawa’s position. Three people in a room, no guards, no witnesses but a young omega servant. A conflict between princes would be a conflict between countries, but a servant acting in rebellion doesn’t have any external affiliations. Blame the servant and have them executed, and the entire affair would be covered up.

“If I was going to die then— I begged his majesty to at least tell my family that I had done my duty before I died, my mother would be ashamed if she heard I’d become a murderer… Hanging sounds painful, but I didn’t think they’d give a criminal a peaceful death.”

Iwaizumi’s mouth is sewn shut with spiderwebs. Of course this girl would fear shadows as much as she does, because there would be someone there, just waiting for the right slip of weakness. “But it didn’t happen.”

“My head is still on my shoulders, for now!”

“So who did he blame?”

“The guards.”

The guards? The guards didn’t do anything— oh. “If the guards were stationed outside of the room, why didn’t they come in when Lord Oikawa was strangling the prince?” An obi can tighten the throat, but it doesn’t muffle struggle. “But they didn’t, because they knew that there was going to be a struggle in the first place.”

“I don’t know if that’s true, but his majesty made it sound very convincing. And I stayed here, after everyone else left. I was still his gift, after all… but his majesty is very kind. He taught me how to read, and my penmanship isn’t very good, but I’m improving, slowly. I don’t think his majesty is cruel deep inside, but sometimes it’s… well, it’s necessary.”

“Why are you telling me this?” He could have easily heard her impressions without her digging up old mud.

“Because you’re a kind person too, Lord Iwaizumi. And kindness… is rare, sometimes.” Yachi continues to thumb the cords on the box. “His majesty doesn’t entirely seem opposed to marriage, at least from what I’m guessing. But I don’t think his majesty is looking for a husband or a wife. I think he’s looking for a partner- maybe not even in marriage, but...” She laughs, sheepishly. “I’m sorry, I’m just rambling now. I’ve taken up too much of your time, forgive me.”

She puts the lid on the box in a hurry, quickly tying the cords that keep it shut back around it. Clutching it to her chest, she gets up and bows low at the door. “Good night, Lord Iwaizumi.”

That night he dreams of a young man with a sharp gaze and a beautiful face sitting in the sunlight, frowning at Iwaizumi as he tries to coax the young man to step into the shadows.

 

* * *

 

Lord Oikawa isn’t shuttering his entire face today. The thick veils clinging to the circlet are still in place, but his hat is nowhere in sight, and half his face shines pale. Iwaizumi figures that after the contest, there’s no reason to hide, but Iwaizumi hopes that it’s because the prince feels a bit more comfortable.

Lady Abiko drinks from her moon-patterned cup, smacking her lips once to let the flavor run over her tongue. “Exquisite choice, Lord Toshizo. This is... plum?”

“Excellent senses, Lady Abiko. You’re correct. We have plum blossoms lining the courtyards of our palace back in Murakumo. The sake you drink is made from those trees. Consider this a Murakumo specialty.”

“My, my, how thoughtful.” Lady Abiko smiles as she puts the cup down, her emotions lost somewhere along the curves of her face. Iwaizumi can’t get a read on her; good news or bad, she sounds amused either way.

“That isn’t the only gift we have today. Prince Oikawa, we have one for you.”

“Oh? Did you find something at the market?”

“No, this is something we brought from Murakumo.”

His father gestures to one of the servants, who produces a wooden box tied with a silken cord. She carefully makes her way forward, handing the box to one of Lord Oikawa’s handmaidens. The handmaiden opens the box, briefly inspects what’s inside, and presents it to the prince, her head bowed in deferment. Lord Oikawa steeps his fingers into the box, and takes out a leather collar, dyed in the bright turquoise of the Murakumo royal family.

A sparkle drizzles across Lord Oikawa’s face as he turns the collar over in his hands. “How lovely.” He brings his fingers to his lips and whistles so sharply that a few of his servants shudder involuntarily.

First Iwaizumi wonders if that was just a trick to startle them, but then a bird comes sweeping in from the courtyard, wide wings flapping as it settles on Oikawa’s outstretched arm. With cloud-gray feathers, a white stomach, and its beak curved to pluck out eyes, it’s the most magnificent falcon he’s ever seen. There’s barely any reaction from the servants, meaning this isn’t unusual.

“Look, Karura,” Lord Oikawa coos, petting the bird’s head with a long finger. “You have a new perch. Isn’t it charming?”

A pause ripples through the Murakumo side. “With all due respect, Lord Oikawa,” one of the generals speaks up, “that’s not its intended function.”

“No? It’s far too large to fit around Karura’s neck.”

“The collar isn’t for your bird. It’s for you.”

Lord Oikawa turns the collar over. “For me?”

“In Murakumo, a collar is jewelry given from one betrothed pair to the other,” one of the Murakumo generals explains. “It’s a customary gift between partners, signifying a promise for the future relationship to be fruitful. It’s made from the finest leathers, and dyed accordingly.”

“In Aoba Jousai, the only things we collar are our pets.”

Iwaizumi’s body temperature drops to zero.

“You have my word we meant no disrespect.” His father’s voice, ever even and strong, rings out over the silence that has flattened the room. “This is a Murakumo custom. Perhaps this isn’t how things are done in Aoba Jousai, but it is how things are done in Murakumo. I had expected some degree of flexibility, but it seems I was wrong.”

Lord Oikawa’s lips press against each other so firmly, it looks like it hurts. “What you call inflexible is a difference in customs. Surely you’d feel uncomfortable if the reverse was true, no?”

“Discomfort, perhaps. But all rule is about compromise. There is no long-lasting relationship that can exist without it.”

“Oh?” The edge flees from Lord Oikawa’s face, brushed over by a blossom of serenity. “I understand that, of course. Stubbornness is unwieldy.” He stands, crossing the border of light and shadow, the train of his long robes draping over the raised platform to stand before Iwaizumi. Holding out the collar, he asks, “Why don’t you wear it?”

The effect is immediate, and all the generals from Murakumo curl back. Even his father sits frozen, tearing free of his shock with a grumble, “What’s the meaning of this?”

“I’m taking your advice, Lord Toshizo. It may not be a symbol of promise in Aoba Jousai, but it is in Murakumo. In that case, the prince from Murakumo should wear it instead, to show off his custom.”

Turquoise leather radiates between the pale skin of Lord Oikawa’s hands and the white of his robes. Even if there’s nothing but an open garden behind him, Iwaizumi feels the points of blades pricking his back. It’s a symbol of promise, yes, but only from an alpha to an omega. The rare double-alpha pairs usually opt out, and betas only wear one when they are wedded to an alpha. It’s to mark the omega as betrothed and in a solitary courting, so that no further offers will come from eager outside parties. Collars are never worn by alphas, it’s seen as improper.

For Iwaizumi to wear such a thing is to debase himself, to lower himself, to publicly humiliate him in front of the Aoba Jousai court.

Debase? He can’t say that to Lord Oikawa’s face, not after what Hanamaki and Matsukawa told him. If he explains the details of the collar custom or even declines, that will prove Lord Oikawa right— that it’s not a gift to charm him, but one to remind him of his place.

Judging from how Lord Oikawa’s eyes are illuminated beneath the shadow of his small bow, he knows exactly what the collar truly signifies. “Why such hesitation?”

“Forgive me,” he says, buying time, “but I’ve never been offered a collar before.”

“Is that so? What a surprise. You don’t have a bad face, surely someone would have thought you’d look nice in one. I certainly do.”

Oh, this bastard.

Lord Oikawa doesn’t want a husband or a wife, he wants a partner. Someone equal.

Iwaizumi takes the collar and unclasps it. Lowering his head, he secures it around his neck. It’s a bit cumbersome to do a perfect fitting by himself, so it droops a little in the front. Leather meets his throat when he swallows, but he raises his head and pushes his feelings down.

The Murakumo entourage is speechless. Even Lady Abiko has stilled. But perhaps nobody is stunned more than Lord Oikawa.

“How do I look?”

The question snaps him out of his paralysis, and Lord Oikawa affixes that charm back to his face, even if it’s imperfect at the edges. “It looks good, as I expected.”

Iwaizumi’s father thinks something far different.

“That fox got you good,” he growls as soon as they’re in private. “Disgracing you in front of the court like that— he should be punished for such insolence!” His father’s fiery glare finds the collar on his son’s neck. “Take that thing off, immediately.”

“I can’t,” he explains, even if he wants to pull it off and throw it far away. “If I do, we’ll look even worse.”

Considering this, his father sits back. “You made snap judgment, and I’ll commend you for that. But I hope this is a lesson that being reasonable is a fine practice, but there’s a time and place to be firm. If you continue to let that omega prince kick you around, you’ll look like a fool.”

“Nariko would’ve done better.”

A cold wind whirls through the room. “Didn’t I tell you not to argue about that in front of me again?” his father says, low and dangerous.

He hates making his father upset, ruining the roots between them, but he has to say this now. He knows he’s a good leader, he knows he has the qualifications, but he knows there’s a better choice out there. “If you’d just let her—”

“Nariko made her decision. She can deal with the consequences. Running off with some omega prince like that, how stupid.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Kazukawa is a small territory, it’s nowhere near as powerful.” His father sighs, fury melting into exhaustion, and Iwaizumi can see how his father has grayed. “Do you know I brought you to Aoba Jousai?”

“To marry the prince. With only me left, only I can make an heir.”

“Yes, but before that. It’s to keep that demon of an empress from destroying our country! Lady Abiko has been ruthless forever, and we’ve luckily managed to stay out of her machinations because fate is merciful, but that’s not going to last. Her son is just like her, I know it. Aoba Jousai and Shiratorizawa are conquering monsters, and our small country isn’t going to be able to stand against them if they suddenly decide that our neutrality doesn’t mean anything.”

“You didn’t have any problems with Shiratorizawa.”

“You know Shiratorizawa is even more traditionalist than we are. They also need heirs, and the queen won’t allow her son to marry another alpha prince. And we don’t have to worry about them, just Aoba Jousai. I shouldn’t have to remind you of this.”

He doesn’t feel bad for his father for ditching Nariko and trying to force him into a marriage, but he does understand how hard his father works all the time to keep the eyes of their country’s ravenous neighbors elsewhere. There’s nothing he can say back.

His father lights his pipe, smoke drifting out of the end. He forgets it for a while, frowning at the glowing embers, and then sighs again. “I know you don’t want to get married.”

Iwaizumi’s throat clenches. He didn’t hide it from Hanamaki or Matsukawa, but he thought he hid it well from his father.

“If we were a humble family, I’d allow it. But you’re a prince, and you are more than just an individual.”

All the energy falls out of Iwaizumi then, because he knows any argument he’d make would be selfish. His country is depending on him, and there’s nobody left for him to defer the responsibility to. “I understand,” he says, even though he wishes he didn’t.

He wanders the hall, numb down to his fingertips. He has to get married. He doesn’t want to get married. He doesn’t want to die. He wants to live and be free and have his country be at peace, but how? How? His mind bubbles up into a storm and he slaps his cheeks hard to dispel it. There has to be a way somehow, somehow—

He spots Lord Oikawa in the hall and catches him with a shout.

Mercifully, Lord Oikawa stops, robes twisting around him like ripples in a pond as Iwaizumi hurries up to him. Lord Oikawa’s eyes drop to the collar still around his throat, and then back up to his face. “You don’t have to yell. I can hear you just fine.”

“I wasn’t sure if you’d stop if I didn’t.”

A small smirk at that, but then nothing more. The falcon perched on Oikawa’s arm swivels its head toward Iwaizumi, yellow eyes watching. But Iwaizumi feels bravery swelling in him, spurned on with the knowledge that opportunity doesn’t come twice.

He doesn’t want to get married, and neither does Lord Oikawa, but they have to. But in the meantime, there’s no reason why he can’t follow his instincts. He presents the bouquet, not-foxtails flopping against the small yellow flowers. Against his turquoise robes, the humble wrappings and simplicity of the plants make it look almost quaint. “This is for you.”

For a deep, long moment, Lord Oikawa stares at the bouquet. “Do you know what this is?”

Lies would only make him look like more of a fool, so Iwaizumi answers, “I don’t know. It seemed to be popular with omegas.” Please, please don’t mean something absolutely atrocious in the language of flowers.

Lord Oikawa takes it, stares into the nestled buds as if he’s trying to peer inside. “It’s has to do with fertility.”

“Actually, I’ll take it back.”

Iwaizumi dives for it, but Lord Oikawa twists out of his grasp. He studies the strained look on Iwaizumi’s face and adds with a smug grin, “I was joking.”

A sigh ripples through Iwaizumi’s body. “Don’t joke about things like that. Honestly, I thought my heart was going to stop.”

Lord Oikawa laughs, and his cheeks aren’t turned up in the noxious sneer that’s his second armor, but something far more genuine. It’s enough that Iwaizumi starts laughing himself, and he hasn’t laughed since he first received the news far back in Murakumo.

“You should probably check what a bouquet means before you hand it over to someone.”

“Yeah, I can’t really argue with that.”

There’s something of a pensive look on Lord Oikawa’s face, vague but vast. “You’re not too bad.” Iwaizumi jerks his head up but Lord Oikawa has already turned away, the white train of his robes drifting behind him like a crest of foam.

It’s a narrow trap they’re both in, but it’s not impossible to wriggle free. He’ll figure out a way, somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with some art! [Miyu](https://twitter.com/Magepaw) surprised me with a picture of the [archery scene](https://imgur.com/omFzO6p) from last chapter!


	5. Freesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [North](https://twitter.com/nrothly) surprised me with a few pieces!  
>  -[Poor Iwa's heart](https://twitter.com/nrothly/status/1069293832141967363)  
> -[Someone who didn't see that coming](https://twitter.com/nrothly/status/1069357051783065600)  
> -[A mood](https://twitter.com/nrothly/status/1069452389609021440)  
> 

Evenings are never a pleasant shuttering to the end of the day like so many poems say. As the sky bleeds from red to black, clouds masking where the sun once stood, Oikawa hears the earth’s sigh of relief.

Down beneath the heavens, he lets out a sigh of his own. The exhale comes out slow, like breathing condensation over ice, or the pale and feathery mist that hangs over a freshly-ended battlefield.

Kuroo is already red in the face. He doesn’t usually drink this much, but with everything happening at once, the cups come to his lips before he can remember what’s inside them. It’s not unusual for them to sit in the same room, sometimes with ease to pass documents over instead of sending messengers back and forth to their rooms, sometimes because both of them need another presence instead of the stretches of usual silence.

“So want to tell me what’s going on?” Kuroo finally asks.

Oikawa’s breath hitches. He’s always known Kuroo looked at the ground to study the sky, but he’s never liked when he was the subject of those observations. “It’s nothing.”

“Well, you don’t seem to be mad.”

“I’m not angry,” Oikawa affirms.

“It’s about the Murakumo prince.” Kuroo’s eyes sway gold in the candelight, seeing, not asking.

Oikawa can’t even muster an answer to that, and curls up, half-frowning, half-pouting. His fingers are heavy and tired from another day of politics, and Lord Iwaizumi’s thrust a spear into all of that.

A servant outside announces that he has a guest, and he allows them in, eager for a distraction.

Shadowed robes drag a train of bloodied red as Kenma makes his way into the room. He bows his head low, and kneels by the entryway. The doors slide shut behind him. “My prince. Kuro.”

“Your report?”

The tiredness around Kenma’s eyes mark the effort he pours into his work. To many, Kenma is a vague-shaped retainer that haunts the palace grounds, not the head of the Kasha. Some positions are better off kept without a face to match them. “The assassin that Lord Iwaizumi dispatched— we got some answers out of her. A noble from the lower court, an Ononoka. A patriot, enough that they don’t like the influx of _outsiders_ in the court.”

Kuroo counts out on his fingers, one, two, three. “Should you turn your hair gold to blend in with the others, Kenma?”

Kenma doesn’t acknowledge the suggestion with a response.

“They have a problem with my court? Then they can cry about it.” Oikawa scoffs. “We’re an empire, of course there’s going to a blending of nations. Stupid. You’re a citizen, Yachi was… a gift, and Karasuno’s Tsukishima is leverage. Does the lower court think that we’re a charity or something?”

No lower noble would dare try to harm their prince, but a servant is free game. Most importantly, if Yachi’s murdered, it would hurt both him and Kiyoko. By those standards, even Kiyoko is an outsider then, isn’t she? Not noble blood, worked her way up because of sponsorship from Karasuno and her accomplishments. A non-noble in the court might anger some people too.

“Put the body in the mass graves outside the city. Send the head back to her employer. They can do the burying themselves.”

“Cleaned?” Kenma asks.

The Kasha are known for playing with their food. It makes their work twice as effective, so Oikawa pays it no mind. Three times as effective when the crown needs to scare someone and remind them of their place. You need to know what frightens people to make something that scares them, and nobody knows people better than Kenma.

“No, leave her as is. Teach this Ononoka a lesson.”

Kenma nods. It will be done to perfection. “My personnel have also noticed that Shiratorizawa’s forces are shifting towards the southern border. They haven’t broached it, but they are close.”

Oikawa clicks his tongue, a revulsion spreading quick. Damn Shiratorizawa, taking advantage of his courting to slip by. “Have you informed my mother already?”

“Yes. I’ve told several of my messengers to venture down to Kitagawa-no-Kindaichi’s outpost.”

“Good, good. Tell him that he doesn’t have to engage, just strengthen the borders. If they want war, we’ll bring it to them, but we can scare them off for now.”

“I’ll inform him.”

“Good, good.”

“And then there’s Lord Iwaizumi.”

Now here’s some interesting information. Oikawa leans forward, excitement running fresh through his blood. “Let me hear it all.”

Kenma focuses on a spot in the tatami mat, away from Oikawa and Kuroo’s gazes. He is silent, gathering every last scrap of information from the depths of his mind. “It really is nothing special.”

“Nothing? No scandals? No murders? He hasn’t slept with a prostitute even once?”

“Not that we can find out, no.”

Oikawa groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Everyone has some secret! There isn’t a single person in the world that doesn’t have something they want to stay hidden forever!”

Kenma tilts his head, thinking. “When he was young, he was so used to swimming in the ocean that he thought an onsen was something you could have fun in. Splashed around, climbed a bunch of rocks, scared a lot of old men.”

Oikawa snorts, hiding his chuckle behind his robes. That is quite the image, but it’s so… mundane.

Kuroo reads the disappointment on Oikawa’s face and adds, “Those are most people’s problems, just embarrassing stories they don’t want their friends to know. Stuff that’ll sort of scuff up their image, not ruin their lives. We can’t all have such adventurous lives as you.”

Oikawa hisses, a flush spreading across his cheeks. “I’ve only been drugged twice.”

“You know how many times I’ve been drugged? Zero. Most people have been drugged zero times.”

They both know better than to ask for Kenma’s input. Kenma’s the type that wanted to know just how well his sleep agents worked, and there was no better person to try it out on than himself.

Oikawa tries again. “You absolutely sure there’s nothing?”

“There’s nothing wrong with Lord Iwaizumi.”

“He doesn’t have a mistress on the side? Some secret concubine that I’ll find out down the road? He’s not into something perverse like… I don’t know, shibari while on a horse?”

“On a horse! That’s adventurous!”

“Tetsurou, I am trying to find out incriminating evidence here!”

Kenma is still through the chaos. “Lord Iwaizumi is clean.”

Oikawa groans, slumping down into a pile of rumpled cream robes. All he needed was a little something, just a weakness in a seam somewhere, and he can tear anyone wide open. He can’t work with absolutely nothing.

“Lord Iwaizumi is clean,” Kenma says, “But there is something about Murakumo that you should know.”

Leaning forward, Oikawa studies the candlelight flicker across Kenma’s flat features. The truth. “What is it?”

“As you know, Murakumo and Shiratorizawa have a consistent trade.”

“Of course.” There’s no country that doesn’t have some relationship with their neighbors. While Aoba Jousai has since swallowed up their neighbors, a few remain: Shiratorizawa to the east, and Kazukawa and Murakumo to the south. Those two countries also border Shiratorizawa, and with the two largest countries in the land nearby, they have no choice but to approach both for peaceful terms.

“It looks like that’s changing. A few months ago, Lord Toshizo sent a messenger to Shiratorizawa to open discussion. He and Queen Haruna have been in talks about an official alliance.”

If Shiratorizawa ends up declaring war on Aoba Jousai, then as official allies, Murakumo would come to Shiratorizawa’s aid. If he’s married to Lord Iwaizumi, then he’d also have to be in good relations with Shiratorizawa, with Ushijima. If Queen Haruna gets her way, he’d have to attack his home. Blood fills his mouth, and his teeth retract from his lip. This wouldn’t just be a humiliating marriage because of conflicting birthrights— but on a political front as well.

“It’s not finalized yet, is it?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“And you’re sure of this?”

“Positive.”

“Kenma!” Kuroo throws his arms around Kenna’s shoulders, pulling the other man close. “You find everything out so fast!”

Kenma scrunches his face up, teeth grinding together, ready to claw his way out at any moment. The only reason Kuroo still has his eyes is that he’s one of the few exceptions allowed to touch Kenma— the other being Kageyama’s red-haired servant.

“It’s nothing special. You’re heavy.”

“And proud of you!”

“And _heavy_.”

Their banter is normal. Ever since Kuroo found Kenma playing with some bones among a pile of corpses, he’s taken Kenma under his wing, yes as a retainer but more as a brother. Kenma’s the only one who can elbow Kuroo in the face like that.

Kenma isn’t the type of person that particularly likes praise, but he knows the conventions of manners in and out. Only by being polite does one perfectly make themselves invisible, for only the rude call attention to themselves. Still, he’s not the type to openly deflect praise either. “Is there something wrong?” Oikawa asks.

Kenma knocks Kuroo in the face once more and wriggles free. Once he has some space, he breathes in and smooths out his robes. “I have to correct his majesty. We did find this information out, but someone had us look into Lord Iwaizumi before your request.”

“Who?”

“Your lady mother.”

A chill overtakes Oikawa. He feels himself turning pale, and hides his shaking hands in the billow of his sleeves. “Is that all?”

“Also, if I may…”

“Yes, speak.”

Kenma brings his sleeve to his nose, his eyes thinning in disgust. “You reek.”

The barb stings. Kenma has a particularly sharp nose, and being a beta doesn’t make that talent a positive one. Being the middle point between alpha and omega, betas have the ability to fulfill both roles when necessary, at the cost of being less fertile on both fronts. Kenma hates the maddening rush of being enticed by omega hormones just as much as he hates the sticky neediness of being coiled by alpha hormones. If he had his way, he’d probably never leave his room.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“You should. As soon as possible.”

Oikawa bats his eyelashes. “Are you worried about your dear prince?”

Kenma doesn’t as much as hesitate on his way out.

“He likes me.”

“He likes your position, yeah.”

“Tetsurou, stop ruining my fantasies.” Now that they’re alone, his voice is much less steady.

“Not great news, huh?”

Learning about Shiratorizawa’s deals with Murakumo isn’t that surprising— they’re neighbors too. But his mother knows that Oikawa hates Shiratorizawa, knows his history with Ushijima, and she let a prince from one of their allies court him. She knew, and she still let it happen.

How much does Lord Iwaizumi know? He can’t be that ignorant to his own country’s affairs, and he has to know of the bad blood between the two empires.

“You think he’s going to marry you, then sell you off to Shiratorizawa?”

“No,” Oikawa answers faster than his thoughts. He curdles his mouth around a fake answer, but lets out the truth with a sigh. “I don’t know. I get a feeling that’s not it.”

“I guess that’s a good sign. Your intuition’s pretty spot on.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” falls out of Oikawa’s mouth. He bites back the rest, but the words have already dropped free. His mother’s always been an enigmatic woman, even if he’s never doubted that she loves him dearly. Why would she keep something so important from him?

Kuroo chews his tongue. “Well, this might not help the fact that the guy who’s courting you is allied with your enemy but—“ he inhales deeply. “I think you smell fine. Like flowers.”

“You know that’s not what he meant.”

“I know, I know.” Kuroo turns a sly eye on him. “Is that why you missed your shot at the tournament?”

Kuroo is as perceptive as always. The thought twinges his stomach, echoing through all his organs below. “I didn’t think my heat would start to come this early.”

With a quick inhale, Kuroo adds, “It’s not here yet.”

“No, but it’s close.”

“Then why haven’t you taken your medicine yet? You’re usually so quick to drug yourself up.”

“You know, there’s one thing that stupid alphas go crazy over.” Oikawa stretches himself out, lounging effortlessly as he runs a finger along the contours of his body. “Something irresistible.”

“An omega that can break their arm?”

Oikawa sits up with a huff. “One day you’ll play along with me.”

“I’m joking. So, you’re going to see if the Murakumo kid tries to go after you?”

Tries is the big word. After fifteen suitors, Oikawa’s since perfected knowing how to read peering gazes. All he needs is too long of a look, something to make it seem like the situation has, and it always will, turn dangerous, and that’s enough for him to act. Even if they don't, lust clouds reason. It’s foolproof, or at least it’s supposed to be.

Kuroo sees the firm line across Oikawa’s lips and leans in. “You think it won’t work.”

“I have doubts.”

“Because he’s not interested in you?”

“There’s that. But…” Lord Iwaizumi keeps catching him off guard. He talks to Oikawa, he encourages him, he engages him- none of that is supposed to happen. Nobody has ever tried that before, and Oikawa’s not sure how to defend himself against it. The knife of enslavement through marriage is there, but Lord Iwaizumi’s grip is light on even that.

Someone like that wouldn’t fall for such a cheap trick.

He reaches to his low table and picks up the bouquet that Lord Iwaizumi gave him earlier in the day.

Kuroo recognizes the contents instantly. “Aww, did Yachi bring that back for you? She’s always working hard.”

“Not her. Lord Iwaizumi.”

The haughtiness is slapped off Kuroo’s face. He stiffens up, squinting at the bouquet to confirm its contents. “He gave— he did? Does he know what that is?”

“Nope.” Oikawa rolls the plain paper along his fingers. It’s rough and nothing special, truly simple. “I told him it meant fertility.”

Kuroo scratches his head. “I mean, that’s not exactly _wrong_ , just not exactly right.”

“And when he heard that, he tried to take it back.”

No snappy retort comes to that. The two sit in silence, light flowers drowning them both.

“Do you think that… even if he knew, he might have given this to me anyway?”

Kuroo plants his chin on his palm, thinking for a few moments. “That’s not impossible.”

It’s not the answer he wants to hear at all, but he and Kuroo had long promised that they wouldn’t lie to each other about important matters.

“I should take my medicine.”

“I’ll get one of the servants to notify Kunimi.”

As Kuroo makes to get up, Oikawa holds out the bouquet. “He can use this.”

“You sure?”

“It’s a gift. Might as well use it.”

 

* * *

 

With Yachi gone, Manaka is his prime attendant. She bows low, pushing her filled tray forward. “Your medicine is ready.” She presents a stone cup, with a light brown powder ground at the bottom. Several small yellow flowers are sprinkled through the powder, some half crushed in the grinding process, some still whole. Manaka pours some cool water on the powder, swirling the cup until the powder has dissolved. She presents it to her lord, head bowed as Oikawa takes it.

Lord Iwaizumi probably thought they were foxtails and yarrow, not realizing the grass and flower were from the same plant. It isn’t that surprising that he didn’t know what it was, seeing as it doesn’t grow in his country.

The kushinada is pretty, with long stems that bear long thin seeds and small flowers each no bigger than a kimono stitch. They turn flat fields golden, and are beautiful to pass by, a frequent sight in Aoba Jousai. If the dried plant is put on a fire, the acrid smoke that billows up eases the symptoms of an omega’s heat, and stops betas from reacting to alpha and omega hormones entirely. When the plant is ground into powder and ingested, the effects of a heat disappear altogether, at least for the current cycle.

Oikawa takes the bowl and downs its contents in a few gulps. Even if one bowl has been proven to be enough to quell heats, Oikawa drinks two total, just in case. Nothing is more disgusting than the haze and helplessness that comes with his body kicking him over and over in a desperate bet to get him to reproduce. It’ll be a day or two until the scent of heat starts to dissipate around him, an annoyance, but he’d rather have imperfect medicine than none.

He sputters, airing out his tongue. At the very top on the list of imperfections. Kunimi really needs to figure something out about that taste.

“Sir Kunimi is still preparing your second batch.” Manaka takes the cup and returns it to the tray. “He says that he’ll be done by the end of the day.”

“Good, good.”

Oikawa makes to get to his feet, but Manaka takes his hand and eases him up. “Where are you going? Allow me to escort you.”

“No need. I’ll be talking to my mother.”

Confusion wrinkles Manaka’s forehead. “Her imperial majesty is getting ready for the day. You’ll see her at mealtime with Murakumo.”

“I need to get something over with beforehand.” He sees the tension stretching her mouth and wonders if Yachi’s worry is rubbing off on his other handmaidens. “I’ll be fine.”

Manaka slides the door open for him, shuffling her robes out of the way. “As you command.”

His steps become a whirlwind, blistering heat searing his thoughts and the more he reflects the angrier he gets.

The servants all startle when Oikawa pushes the door open. One by his mother’s side constructing a flower arrangement nearly drops his scissors. “Leave us,” Oikawa commands.

Cowed, they bow and hurry out of the room.

With a sigh, his mother shifts to look his way. Her hair hasn’t finished being brushed, and hangs a black river down her back.“Tooru, what is it? Don’t interrupt your mother when she’s getting ready.”

“You knew.”

“Be specific.” Impatience flashes in her eyes.

Oikawa plops down in front of her. “You knew that Murakumo and Shiratorizawa were in talks to be official allies, you knew and you still let one of their princes come court me anyway.”

“They started those talks four months ago.”

“That’s even worse. How could you think this was something that should just slip by? Why didn’t you tell me?”

His mother gets that unamused look in her eyes. “Why are you coming to me with this now?”

“What?” Oikawa blurts out.

“Our people are everywhere. Have you been slacking in keeping track of our neighbors? You have as much jurisdiction over the Kasha as I do. This is a problem you should have brought up when I first told you that Murakumo had proposed to you.”

Oikawa’s lip curls. “You’re saying that… if I said this to you initially, then you might have delayed the proposal?”

“Of course. But you failed to do research, and you had no grounds to refuse their proposal. You should have kept up with your surveillance.”

He balls his hands into fists so some of the shaking eases out. “That’s true.”

His mother turns back to her mirror. “Blame your own lack of foresight.”

“And you’re fine with the proposal continuing as is?”

“Those are the affairs of their country, not ours. We don’t have any say in it.”

“We could.”

“We could.” While the head of the country is gone, the nobility is in charge. Stir up a few rumors, make some promises of piles of gold that would never come, stroke some egos, remind people why power is something to possess. Nothing that hadn’t been done before and couldn’t be done again. “But we won’t.”

Oikawa’s face screws up as he hunts down his thoughts. “You’re alright with your only son becoming allies with Shiratorizawa?”

“That’s quite up to you, isn’t it?” His mother tilts her head back his way, eyes twinkling.

“There’s nothing that can be done?”

The birds chirp in the courtyard. Even though the shuttered blinds keep out the morning light, the sounds of the morning hum around them.

“I’ll give Haruna one thing, she’s an efficient woman. She had her child, made sure he was healthy, then excommunicated her husband from the kingdom.”

Oikawa quirks an eyebrow. He may loathe Ushijima, but his mother’s vitriolic rivalry with Queen Haruna has lasted for decades. It’s rare that his mother would give her anything, even a compliment. “Is that a suggestion?”

“Perhaps. If you marry Lord Iwaizumi and become a citizen of Murakumo, then you’ll be expected to have a child to continue the royal bloodline. And once that child is made and Lord Iwaizumi dies young, that would make you king regnant, no? Nobody would be able to challenge your right to rule but your own child- who will be far too young to do anything of matter.”

It’s not impossible. He’d rather it not come to that, but it _is_ a viable option. “Alright, that’s fair. But if you were in my position, would you have done that?”

She is rooted where she sits, back to him, her long robes not creasing even a fraction. The air cools faster than an overcast day, and Oikawa feels his stomach churn. It was an unfair question, and he knew it the moment he said it. There’s no question that she’d walk into the land of the dead and pull her husband out of the shadows if she could. She’d throw every person she’d ever met, all but her only son, onto a sacrificial pyre if the gods would give her husband back to her.

His mother reaches into the unfinished flower arrangement and plucks a chrysanthemum from the base. Carefully, she tucks it into Oikawa’s vined circlet, the petals-tips brushing against his hair. “Efficiency isn’t always a good thing.”

Oikawa turns the flower once, cautious to not disturb the delicate curl of the petals. “So this is a losing situation?”

“There’s nothing wrong with giving up. But if you see a problem and that’s your first reaction, you’ve already lost.”

Sometimes he wishes that his mother would give him concrete advice, but that was never her style. He doesn’t need her advice to know that she cares for him. Oikawa bows his head. “I’ll consider it.”

“Good. Also, before you go, it seems as if an official of the lower court, an Ononoka, fainted after receiving a box. Any idea what it contained?”

“A love poem?”

“I didn’t know you were such a romantic.” His mother smiles, the pockets of her mouth dark in the shades of lantern light. “You have the qualities to be emperor. Use them.”

Oikawa swallows down the the compliment. It’ll soon be mealtime, and neither of them are ready yet. Cupping the flower gingerly so that it doesn’t fall out of place, Oikawa rises and lets the servants back in.

A small problem will _not_ deter him.

 

* * *

 

“You look stiff today, Lord Iwaizumi. Is the warm weather not to your liking?”

“I’m feeling very well. Thank you.”

“Your eyes are sagging a bit in the corners. Is something on your mind?”

“A little.”

Oikawa smiles politely, and picks up another clump of rice. As he bends his arms to place down his chopsticks, his elbow brushes up against Lord Iwaizumi’s right arm.

The court may be wide, with plenty of space for the nobles to eat without bothering their neighbors, but the two princes are close. _Very_ close. When his mother invited Lord Iwaizumi to sit on the platform with them, he pushed their cushions to be right nearby each other.

They’ve had their private dinners together, but they’ve never sat this close. In the morning light, Lord Iwaizumi’s hair is not the black he thought it was, but shades of dark brown. The fresh cut where Oikawa’s arrow sliced his cheek is still red with healing skin pink around it, but the scar on the right side of his lip is old. As far as cuts go, it’s wider than most— a knife hissing threats, maybe? When Oikawa nudges against him, his strong eyebrows tense for the briefest of moments. The leather of the collar shines, snug against his throat but loose enough to let him swallow food without any problem. Oikawa does love that thing.

“I really will say, the turquoise around your neck compliments your robes quite well.”

“I appreciate it.” His voice is a little tense, but he hasn’t taken the collar off. Oikawa thought it would be the first to go, but here Lord Iwaizumi is, surprising him again.

Surprises or not, Lord Iwaizumi needs to be reminded that this is Oikawa’s court, and Oikawa's country.

Dessert is a round tray of sliced persimmons and dried chestnuts. Oikawa picks up a firm piece of persimmon, squeezing it once to let a bit of juice coat his fingers. “Fine fruit. Do you like persimmons?”

“They’re alright.”

“You haven’t touched any on your plate.”

“I will.”

Oikawa hums, the thin of his eyes catching the sun speckles around Lord Iwaizumi’s sides, up to a faint pink at the corners of his ears. Lashes fluttering, he leans in, taunting the persimmon by Lord Iwaizumi’s face. Lord Iwaizumi makes to shift away, but there’s nowhere to move with the tapestry behind them, and any retreat would be weak. “Don’t you want to try a piece?” Oikawa asks, arching his hand closer.

“I have my own,” comes the reply, thin and scratchy.

“But you haven’t tried yours. You’re shy, aren’t you?” Oikawa exhales and breathes a fruity perfume. “You may have excellent fish back in Murakumo, but our fruit is from paradise. Won’t you take a bite?”

Persimmon dents Lord Iwaizumi’s bottom lip once. Lord Iwaizumi’s stilted sigh is warm on his hand, and he leans forward, mouth open. Before he can bite down, Oikawa pushes the fruit onto his tongue. Teeth scrapes on skin, and Oikawa feels the pressure as they come down, slowly, more painfully. They don’t dig deep enough to hurt, but to test and challenge, and Oikawa burns. Lord Iwaizumi may be stupid, but he’s not blind, he’s a creature with fangs, and this man is smart enough to know when to use them.

A loud clatter as a tray upturns, spilling dishes to the floor. The world expands away from the two of them, and Oikawa startles, blood chilled.

Kageyama stands shaking, fists trembling and his cheeks flushed red. He whirls around to Lord Iwaizumi, shouting, “How dare you drug the crown prince?”

All the color drains from Lord Iwaizumi’s face. “What?”

“Oikawa-san would never act like that! You drugged him, didn’t you?”

“Our lord would do no such thing,” calmly replies one of Iwaizumi’s messy-haired retainers, but Kageyama’s ears are plugged.

“I know Oikawa-san, and he wouldn’t act that weird!”

“Hey, hey, calm down. How do you know he’s drugged?”

“Because Oikawa-san has dignity! He’d never do something so… bad!”

“Watch your tone! That’s quite the accusation!” One of the Murakumo generals bares her fangs, ready to defend her prince. “Do you have any proof to support that slander?”

“I don’t need proof!”

“Tobio-chan, wait…” Oikawa starts, but his words are swept up in the wave of dissent that swells up.

The Murakumo assembly flares up to fight against the allegation. Kuroo is laughing from behind his robes, and off to the side, Kiyoko is shooting judgment at Oikawa from the edges of her eyes. In the middle of it all, Lord Iwaizumi is frozen with bewilderment, and Oikawa wants to crawl into a hole.

“That’s enough!” The firm voice quiets the chaos. All eyes fall on the figure of the empress, glowering before the court. “If the guests from Murakumo would please excuse themselves from the court for a moment. We have important matters to discuss.”

Lord Toshizo doesn’t hesitate, bringing the rest of his people to him with a sweep of his robes. Pinned in stunned silence, Lord Iwaizumi falters for a moment, but he drifts to his father’s side. He lingers on Oikawa, and Oikawa’s too embarrassed to return the glance.

Once the Murakumo court has left, Kageyama walks over to Oikawa’s side. “If you’re hurt, you should see a doctor.”

A flustered, maddening rage boils through Oikawa’s head. “Tooooooobioooooo. I can’t believe you. Your brain is smaller than a sparrow’s. No, that’s insulting to sparrows.”

Kageyama brightens up. “You’re back to normal.”

“I was never not normal!”

“Then…” Kageyama starts, as if he’d never considered any other option.

Oikawa breathes through his nose, trying to keep his face as smooth as possible. “I was playing a prank on Lord Iwaizumi. I wasn’t drugged, I knew what I was doing. I was making fun of him a little.”

Kageyama mouths around Oikawa’s words, as his expressions slide around haphazardly. He flounders around the information, eyes sliding across the room as he processes it. “A prank…” he mumbles.

Sugawara sighs, rubbing his temples.

“So you’re alright.”

“Yes. I’m alright. And Tobio.” Kageyama may still be growing, but Oikawa has the height advantage, and he’s going to use it. “You realize that you just accused another country of having drugged me, right? You know you caused this whole problem that you didn’t have to be part of if you just kept your mouth shut?”

With his usual bluntness, Kageyama replies, “That doesn’t matter.”

“ _What_?”

“Our country is stronger than theirs. And you’re fine. So it doesn’t matter.”

A growing mold creeps along Oikawa’s mind, because Kageyama just had to speak up, just had to spoil his fun, stupid Kageyama who he never wanted to see again to begin with. “You don’t even have the foresight to not say something and you think you might one day be emperor? Your arrogance is one thing, but you honestly believe—”

A fan falls between the two of them. “That’s enough.” Sugawara’s usual pleasant expression is stern. “You’ve said your part.”

Oikawa’s fangs are already out. “He can handle it. You’re not his father, you don’t have to baby him.”

A chill bursts through Sugawara’s smile. “He may not be my blood, but he is my son.”

A long, tense silence where nobody dares to breathe.

“Sugawara.”

Sugawara bends at his name. “Your imperial majesty.”

“Remind Kageyama to not cause an outburst in my court unnecessarily.”

“I will, fervently.”

“Tooru.”

“Yes, mother?”

“Watch your tongue and cool your head.”

Oikawa frowns, but he pushes through. “Of course.”

She exhales, her sigh sending a ripple across the court. “It seems as if we owe the Murakumo party an apology. Invite them back in. We will wrap this up as quickly as possible.”

 

* * *

 

The chrysanthemums blanket the gardens in bright yellow, more divine than the sun, calming, peaceful.

Yachi is usually by his side, but she’s off tending to Lord Iwaizumi. He doesn’t trust any of his other handmaidens with his thoughts, so he holds his umbrella by himself.

His mother always tells him stories of his father, that he loved elegant things. The strong flowers showed such adversity, that he ordered his garden to be filled with blossoms. They look delicate at first, but inside them is a raw power, fragrance in scent and taste, and are daringly harsh against the blue sky.

The chrysanthemum garden is his repose. Here there is only the endless yellow, an ocean with no shore.

A clatter of sandals, someone is coming up the path. Oikawa doesn’t turn, he knows the shape of the shadow that drapes across the stones next to him. “Do you need something?”

The shadow shortens as Lord Iwaizumi sits on the ground. Oikawa doesn’t offer him his seat, or make any motion to move. Oikawa’s breath presses into a sigh, but it’s over nothing and over everything. Lord Iwaizumi, thankfully, doesn’t ask.

Neither of them speak, only watching the sway of the flowers, neverending.

“Mealtime was a mess.”

“Mm.”

“You don’t think?”

“It was terrible.”

“It was. After this afternoon, I think you owe me at least one request.”

Even if it wasn’t Oikawa’s words, Kageyama still did accuse the Murakumo royalty of a crime they didn’t commit. Lord Toshizo has been reasonable, but who’s to say he won’t demand something unreasonable later on? Oikawa owes Murakumo an apology, and it’s better to get that over with as soon as possible. “I’ll accept, within reason.”

“Come for an afternoon with me.” When Oikawa cocks his head, Iwaizumi continues. “There are a lot of flatlands outside the palace grounds. Those would be good places for a ride.”

“Is this a joke?”

“No joke. Come with me.” Lord Iwaizumi stands and extends a hand, but Oikawa pulls away. It deters the prince for a moment, but Lord Iwaizumi retracts without much complaint. “I’ll be waiting by the palace gates in an hour.”

“Who will be with us?”

“Just us. And whoever you want to bring.”

It’s too simple. When something is too good to be true, it’s usually a lie.

Kiyoko is training in the courtyard, striking her shinai against a straw dummy. Sweaty hair sticks to her forehead, but she wipes it away when she sees Oikawa approach. She is an easy listener, and makes no complaint when she has to put her shinai down.

“If he tries anything, shoot him.”

Quirking an eyebrow, Kiyoko fixes a gaze on him. “I thought you’d want to be doing the shooting.”

“There will be questions if he tries something and I’m the one that kills him. There wouldn’t be any other observers but those loyal to me, and that’s suspicious. But nobody would question if you’re the one to do it.”

Kiyoko makes to tie up her hair, long silky strands dancing in the light. “Only if he tries anything.”

“Yes, yes,” Oikawa concedes.

Manaka is much less enthused. “It’s dangerous.”

“It sure is.”

“You’ve been in many dangerous situations lately.”

“That’s the reality of courtship.”

She makes a sound at the back of her throat, disapproving.

“You worry too much. Yachi really is rubbing off on you and Asuka both. Trust your prince.”

“I do, unquestionably,” she frantically answers, tying his hakama a little too tight on the waist in the process. “It’s just…”

“It’ll be alright. Kiyoko is accompanying me.”

That quiets her. “Good,” she mutters, but he’s not sure whether she means for his safety or not.

Sure enough, nobody else comes with them. No guards, no entourage, nothing. Yachi sits on her horse behind Lord Iwaizumi, but she’s no warrior. It’s a huge safety risk, but even the bravest bandit would think twice after seeing Kiyoko in full armor following the two princes.

Lord Iwaizumi doesn’t say where they’re going, but he leads them quietly out the capital where the roads become dustier and houses level down into arranged fields.

If Lord Iwaizumi was going to grab him and take off, he wouldn’t be able to get very far, not with Yachi’s horse tethered to his. No matter how Oikawa looks at it, Lord Iwaizumi’s at a disadvantage.

“I didn’t drug you.”

They’d been traveling quietly, so the sudden talk catches Oikawa off guard. “I know you didn’t.” After listening to all of Kuroo’s discussions about poisons and compounds from overseas, he thinks he’d be able to at least guess what happened to him if he was. There would be no helping it if he’d ingested poison meant to kill, but if it was to confuse or knock him out, he’d be ready. Plus, there’d be the issue of getting the ruined meal through the food tasters.

“I guess Karasuno-no-Kageyama jumped to conclusions.”

“He sure did, the brat.”

Lord Iwaizumi turns to look his way. “He’s quite protective of you.”

Oikawa draws his groan out as long and loud as he can manage. “Can we stop talking about my empty-headed cousin?”

He feels Lord Iwaizumi’s gaze linger on the sides of his face, and keeps his own gaze forward. “Okay. Then at least answer me this— is your issue with the clan, or just its head?”

“Why does it matter?”

“If I’m going to be here, I don’t want to be any part of some internal court strife.”

Oikawa snorts, but it’s not like it’s an unfounded request. “The clan’s fine.”

With a nod, Lord Iwaizumi takes the answer and leaves it at that. Oikawa’s grateful, even if he’d never say it out loud. Just thinking about Kageyama gives him a headache.

They slow to a stop in front of a wheat field, cordoned off with low ropes. The golden stems sway in the light breeze, calm and waiting. When Oikawa squints, it doesn't look like the entire field is wheat— the other half is made up of kushinada. Yachi lets out a small gasp at the sight, and even though Oikawa keeps his surprise inside, it truly is a beautiful sight. "I knew it," Lord Iwaizumi takes in the area with a pleased smile. "I only caught a glimpse of it on the way here. But it... it really is beautiful."

"It is," Oikawa admits. This type of harvest is Aoba Jousai's pride and joy. "There's nothing like this in Murakumo, is there?"

Lord Iwaizumi tilts his head. "We have wheat?"

"But not that plant." 

At a second glance, Iwaizumi sees how the field isn't consistent. "Oh."

"That wouldn't grow by you. Consider it an Aoba Jousai specialty."

"It's still lovely. Like the sunflower... yellow... or something."

Snorting, Oikawa turns his head so his laugh isn't visible. "You're terrible at poetry."

Lord Iwaizumi's smile is lopsided, sheepish, but it's still there. "I've been told that."

The moment passes with the breeze.It doesn’t look like they’re making to trample the field, so Oikawa looks at Lord Iwaizumi questioningly. "Why did you bring us here?"

“The field wraps around this area, a clean square.” Lord Iwaizumi traces the outline of the paths by the ropes. “You can see the whole thing from this position.” He looks into Oikawa’s face, unflinchingly. “Race me.”

Yachi lets out a yelp of surprise, and nearly falls off her horse. “Race his majesty?”

“Why not?”

Oikawa narrows his eyes. The reeds are tall, but not tall enough to hide a force hiding in waiting. No trees are along the edges of the field, only sloped hills. A poor spot for an ambush.

“So it’s just around the field?” Kiyoko asks, tracing the path Iwaizumi pointed out with her finger. When Lord Iwaizumi nods, Kiyoko dismounts. “Understood. We’ll stay here and judge.”

Kiyoko is gentle when she helps Yachi off her horse. She may look serene, but she can hit a moving target at this distance, no problem.

“A race?” Is he joking? Oikawa’s smile is mostly veneer. “What’s the wager?”

“Who makes a full lap first. Back to this position.”

“That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Lord Iwaizumi is no soldier, he made that quite clear the other day in the courtyard. To challenge a general to a horserace is a fool’s bet. A smile curls up Oikawa’s face, a shadow beneath a sunbeam. “I hope you like losing.”

Lord Iwaizumi grins back, not deterred. “I wouldn’t be too sure.”

They bring their horses up to the edge of the field. Lord Iwaizumi is on the inner portion of the road, but it doesn’t look like he’s chosen that space deliberately. Oikawa’s horse senses the incoming action and digs at the dirt. He pats her neck lovingly, a silent promise to grind their contender into the ground.

“No tricks.”

Lord Iwaizumi nods. “No tricks.”

Oikawa looks towards Kiyoko, knowingly. She’ll know what to do.

Kiyoko has plucked a stray dandelion off the side of the road, twirling it between her fingers. “Hardy flower, isn’t it?” She holds it up, comparing the flower to Yachi’s hair. Carefully, she tucks it in the fold of Yachi’s robes, the flower leaning into the dip of her collarbone. “It suits you.”

Yachi flushes harder than the reddest camellia.

Oikawa wants to scream.

“Are you ready?” Lord Iwaizumi asks.

“Yes! I’m ready!”

“On the count of three. One.”

Oikawa grips the reins tight.

“Two.”

He catches sight of Lord Iwaizumi, how he is looking forward, determined.

“Three!”

They take off at the same time, a thunder of hooves echoing in the field.

Oikawa’s horse isn’t ill-behaved by any means, but she’s just as hungry as he is. Even when she was still young, she’d want to go faster than all the others, and took a while to tame. She has the bad habit of trying to take the bit, even after all this time, just to tease her master, but he knows just how much she wants to win too. He’s confident in her; she’s weathered war, she can handle something as simple as a race.

Riding at a normal pace down the roads is very different from a race, but Lord Iwaizumi handles his horse with ease. Oikawa thought he’d be more stiff, but he has a natural seat and he knows exactly what he’s doing. There’s no anxiety in Lord Iwaizumi’s horse, not even when they dart around the first turn, kicking up mud.

As his heart rises from a thrum to a wild beat, Oikawa wants to laugh. It’s been so long since he was challenged like this, on a field that he loves instead of a field he’s supposed to be good at. The wind whips through his hair, and for a moment he sees Lord Iwaizumi is riding right beside him. There’s no easy victory, not for either of them. It’s annoying, crawling at his hands like centipedes, but it’s also exciting, starbursts across his heart.

He’s not getting beaten. Oikawa narrows his focus into something unbreakable as they curve around the last turn. He encourages his horse one last time and she flares with an explosive burst of speed. It should have put him ahead, but Lord Iwaizumi catches up just as quickly, boldly keeping him in check.

When they both barrel across the finish line, they’re neck and neck.

“Who was it?” they both yell before they have the time to dismount.

Yachi fumbles, cheeks turning red as she overheats from replaying the moment over and over again in her head, but Kiyoko answers for her. “The prince, just by a second.”

It wasn’t an overwhelming victory, and Oikawa knows it. “We were close,” he concedes.

“Looks like it,” Lord Iwaizumi admits. He takes a gasp of breath, then exhales. His hair is deep dark in the shade, but out in the sun like this, it’s luminescent in light amber. He pats his horse's neck on a job well done, and Oikawa averts his eyes without further comment. A heat warms his neck and stretches up towards his cheeks, not before he beats it back with more sober thoughts.

“Why did you choose to ask for this?” There were all sorts of favors Lord Iwaizumi could’ve asked for. Bargaining a better deal for the trade routes their parents were discussing would have been the ideal thing to do. If he wanted to spend more private time together, the gardens could have been cleared for a day. Horse racing feels so trivial in comparison.

“Why? I guess…”

With the exhilaration of the race dwindling down, Oikawa’s reactions come a second too slow. By the time his brain catches up to his body, Lord Iwaizumi already has his hand in his grip.

Mind and body aligns in a burst, and Oikawa wrenches free. “Who gave you permission to touch me?”

“I thought so,” Lord Iwaizumi says, ignoring him.

“Thought _what_? Answer me!”

Lord Iwaizumi holds up his hand. “You have calluses all around here.” He traces the bottom portion of his thumb, and the line where the rest of his fingers meets his palm. “Your shinai handle is all gray, not the white of new fabric. It’s been whittled down a few times too.”

Oikawa crosses his arms. “So what? I practice a lot.”

“Before I came here, you’d recently returned from war, didn’t you? You return from war, and now you’re courting while keeping up your practice.” Lord Iwaizumi looks at him, the sun across his face painted orange. “When was the last time you relaxed?”

Relaxed? He doesn’t have time to relax. There’s so much to do, so much to juggle, only brief moments where he can breathe with his friends and his handmaidens—

—When was the last time he relaxed?

“It’s a nice day, isn’t it? No clouds, blue sky.” Lord Iwaizumi sits on the grassy incline. “Just relaxing- no court, no problems, just for an hour or two.” He closes his eyes, folding his arms behind his head as a pillow. Curse it all, it really does look comfortable.

He glances away, and Yachi is in the grass as well, fingers at work as she weaves wildflowers together. Kiyoko is still sitting up and alert, but she has a softness to her posture.

“Fine! I’ll relax!” Oikawa flops backward onto the incline with a huff. Grass tickles his neck, and sunbeams spreads warm across his nose. It’s too early for cicadas, but the birds are holding a small symphony.

No chatter in the background, no messengers coming with the latest news, nothing but the wind and the occasional creak of passersby on the road above. It's a manicured garden, but for once in a long, long time, Oikawa feels his troubles fall away under the ever-seeing sun.


	6. Sunflower

“His majesty will not be taking guests today.”

Iwaizumi pauses before the willowy handmaiden blocking his path. She looks gentle and frail, but she is standing resolute. “How come?”

“His majesty is resting for the day. If you have any documents or requests, please give them to Lord Kuroo instead.” When Iwaizumi opens his mouth, she cuts in, “And he has specified that he will be taking no guests. Is there an emergency?”

“No,” Iwaizumi admits. “I only wanted to talk.”

“You may talk tomorrow then.”

There is no moving her, so Iwaizumi bows and takes his leave.

He doesn’t expect his return to be met with tears. “His majesty is resting?” Yachi sniffles. She rubs her face with her sleeve, not caring what makeup she tracks on the silks. Iwaizumi doesn’t know what to do, so he pats her on the shoulder. Her eyes meet his; the corners are tinged red, her powder is running, and her eyelashes are floundering. “I’m so sorry, Lord Iwaizumi… but it’s been so long since his majesty allowed himself to rest for a day.”

Iwaizumi sucks in a short breath. “He doesn’t rest?”

“As soon as he returns from war, he doesn’t hesitate to go through all the leftover documents. Lord Kuroo insists that he could take some of the burden, but his majesty is so stubborn…” Yachi laces her fingers together and undoes them with one darting gesture. “He is constantly working. Manaka and Asuka must be thrilled… I wish I could see it with my own eyes.”

He suspected that Lord Oikawa was constantly working with guests around, but he didn’t think it was routine. The intuition nagging at him turned out to be not just true, but worse than he imagined. Leveraging that favor like he did was really for the best.

“Lord Iwaizumi!” Yachi pushes her head up into his space, honeyed eyes sparkling. “You’re the only one who’s gotten through to the prince! I know I’ve been ordered to tend to you, but if there’s anything you need, please tell me! I’ll help you!”

It’s a good thing they’re alone; if Hanamaki or Matsukawa were around to hear this, they’d never let Iwaizumi live it down. He steps back, putting some space between them. “There’s no need for that—”

A sudden thought crashes through, halting his tongue. There might be one thing, something that he wouldn’t be able to get out of the royal family, or even from his friends with their endless curiosity. “There might be one thing.”

“Of course!”

“What does Lord Oikawa have against Karasuno-no-Kageyama?”

Shock falls over her face faster than a thunderclap.

Maybe that was too hard of a question. “If it’s easier, explaining what the clan does would also help.” He knows that the Karasuno clan is mostly kept away from the inner court, despite their high ranking. They can still hold claim to the throne, even if the choice will always go first to the royal family. Beyond that, he knows very little, and that’s not just because his father pulled him into this courting in a hurry.

Yachi’s shoulders slope down, relaxing slightly. She chews her cheek, fingers tugging at the visible layers of her sleeves. “I can’t betray his majesty’s trust.”

“I won’t ask you to. I don’t need anything confidential.”

Ever frantic, her hands burrow deeper into her robes. If she stays still any longer, her fingers might fall off at the joints.

“Hanamaki gave me some tea leaves the other day, but they’re still whole. Do you think maybe you can...”

Yachi doesn’t hesitate, plucking up the small box and pouring the leaves out into a stone bowl. She fumbles with the pestle at first, but the slow, repetitive motions kneads the tension from her voice. “I came into the household very late. So I’m afraid that I don’t...”

“I really don’t need a lot.”

“Does Murakumo need something with Karasuno? I heard about what happened, and Lord Kageyama did apologize. Was that not enough?”

At the end of the day, she is just a servant. He has no obligation whatsoever to answer her. Still, simmering beneath the surface of her expression is a concern and strength that melts his armor. “What Kageyama did was ridiculous, yes. But I’m not interested in that. But anything that’s a problem now will be one later, right?”

Yachi accepts the answer with a small gulp. “Nothing confidential.”

“Just anything any established member of the court would know.”

She gets to work, grinding the long stalks into pieces. “The Karasuno clan is the other branch of the royal family, but instead of presiding over the country’s economics, they supervise the military. They’re slightly younger than the Nekoka clan, but not by much.”

With Aoba Jousai’s massive size that has only doubled over the past decade, they still have small military leaders in the faraway regions to keep the peace. At the same time, their central military is still one of the largest and strongest in the land.

“Giving military control to one of the branch families is asking for trouble, isn’t it? What’s to stop Karasuno from revolting?”

“Blood, I think? The previous clan leader, the late Lord Ukai married Lady Katano, her imperial majesty’s sister.”

So that’s why Kageyama looks strikingly like Lady Abiko. Even if the clan itself is further away from the throne bloodline-wise, Lord Kageyama has far more claim than Lord Kuroo does. That’s complicated.

“But Lord Ukai died in battle along with his wife, leaving his only son behind. But he was far too young, so control of the clan went to one of Lord Ukai’s advisors. Lord Sugawara and Lord Sawamura have been raising Lord Kageyama until he comes of age.”

“Kageyama is a few years younger than Lord Oikawa, correct?”

“Yes, that’s right. I’m not familiar with what they were like when they were young. It seems like his majesty has always been upset with Lord Kageyama, even if…”

“If?”

“I don’t believe… they were always on bad terms. Not according to Lady Shimizu.”

Iwaizumi’s ears snag onto that. “Yeah?”

“Yes… Lady Shimizu says that the two lords used to spend time together. Not like now.”

The tea leaves have been nicely ground down into steepable pieces. Yachi looks around for more containers, but Iwaizumi shakes his head. “That’s enough, thank you.”

 

* * *

 

Neither Hanamaki or Matsukawa manage to get their greetings out before Iwaizumi grabs them and drags them into the hall.

“But we didn’t do anything this time!” Hanamaki protests.

“I know you didn’t, which is why you’re the best people to do this.”

Iwaizumi finds an empty tea room, and dumps the two inside. They grumble as they right themselves, but they’re all ears. In a hushed voice, Iwaizumi whispers, “I need to get to the Karasuno quarters.”

Hanamaki makes a face, but Matsukawa casually brings out his pipe. “Why Karasuno?” he asks.

“Something’s going on with Karasuno and the royal family. I need to find out.”

“Besides the false accusation? I thought that Kageyama was going to chew Matsukawa’s face off.”

“Besides that.”

“So what’s the issue?”

There’s no pleasant way to say this. “The prince isn’t exactly keen on discussing Kageyama at all. His people aren’t going to take kindly to me trying to talk to him either. I think that either Shimizu-gozen or Nekoma-no-Kuroo will try to stop me somehow.”

“And we have to distract them if they try.”

“Exactly.”

Hanamaki rolls his eyes, even as he nods his head. “Alright, so we’re on distraction duty. Not the worst thing we’ve done. As long as we don’t get into a fight with that warrior woman, we should be fine.”

“So it’s just us?” Matsukawa asks.

“No. We need one other person.”

 

* * *

 

“You’re going to what?” Yachi’s pupils are thinner than a needle. “That’s… that’s no good. No good. His majesty is going to be furious!”

“Why? I’m not making a deal. I’m just finding out more information.”

“H-His majesty doesn’t want his betrothed to be discussing anything with Karasuno.”

“You’re right. That’s why you’re coming with me.”

Fear strikes Yachi like a spear. She mouths around several words, but nothing comes out.

“You are Lord Oikawa’s prized handmaiden. Even if you’re helping me, you’re loyal to him. So, if I do anything wrong, you’ll tell him, won’t you?”

Yachi’s jaw clenches tight as she considers it. “Alright, I’ll come with you. But you won’t be discussing anything that hurts his majesty. You won’t! I won’t let you!” Despite the worry in her voice, her wide eyes are determined.

He’s counting on it.

Matsukawa and Hanamaki are waiting outside, leaning against the walls looking bored, while the guards stare at them suspiciously. “All done, bossman?” Matsukawa asks.

“One day my father’s going to execute you two.”

“He’ll make an admirable effort, I’m sure.”

The quarters where Karasuno is staying is a fair distance from the center of the palace, closer to the guard rooms by the entrances than any of the other living quarters. All the buildings in the palace grounds are connected, and Iwaizumi makes his way past servants sweeping dust off the open corridors. There’s never a dull moment, with servants hurrying boxes to and fro, guards making their rounds, and members of the lower court dallying around to watch the cherry blossoms in bloom. Their silhouettes slide over the walls, blotted out by the slatted screens let down halfway to shield the occupants from the sun.

The halls open into a corridor overlooking a massive stone garden, manicured brooks flowing between green bushes and neatly trimmed grass. The sun catches Iwaizumi’s eyes, losing him a second before he realizes he isn’t alone.

Kuroo’s gloomy retainer is by the gardenside, sitting with an alpha servant with fiery red hair. The servant is animated, talking with his hands as his voice carries across the plants. His robes are all black, likely a worker for the Karasuno clan. Even though Kenma’s robes clearly connote that his status is far higher than his guest’s, he sits quietly, listening intently.

Kenma’s gaze trails to them, thin, and locks in place. There’s no sneaking past now.

“Lord Kenma, Hinata.” Yachi approaches the two with a smile a touch above polite. “Are you two relaxing?”

“Yachi!” The red-headed servant swivels around, excitement narrowed her way. He bounces to his feet, hair flopping like a flickering flame. Iwaizumi’s never seen hair that shade of red, only in paintings of barbarians from the west. “Yeah! We are! Kenma’s telling me all about some new powders and stuff. I don’t really get it, but it sounds really cool!” Hinata catches sight of Yachi’s company, and flits around like a sparrow. “The Murakumo prince! What are you doing here?”

Iwaizumi feels Kenma’s probing gaze behind Hinata’s bright one, but he’s already been spotted. “I needed to ask Kageyama a few questions.”

“Kenma!” Hinata grabs Kenma’s sleeve, his eyes glimmering like a sunny pond, “Do you think Kageyama’s going to get in trouble?”

“You want him to get in trouble?”

“No,” Hinata fumbles, realizing what he said, “Maybe. But it’s nice to see him stumble just like the rest of us for once.” He turns his eyes back to Iwaizumi. “Why are you going to ask him stuff?”

Iwaizumi has no idea what Kenma is, but he couldn’t have remained Kuroo’s retainer by sheer luck. His true motives would be figured out fast if he tries to lie. “Some things only Kageyama knows,” he replies, a vague enough truth.

“You think so? I don’t think he knows much of anything.”

“Are you really a servant?”

“I am!” Hinata puffs up, proud.

Kenma lets out a soft groan, and motions Hinata back his way. Hinata flits to his side, plopping back down on the floor, legs swinging over the edge. “Have fun at Karasuno, Lord Iwaizumi.” He says it tonelessly, but the weight of a threat pounds in Iwaizumi’s ears.

When Kenma turns his back on them, all attention on Hinata, his voice has a hint of a spark when he says, “Temari, you were saying?”

“Yeah! I tried, and Ennoshita’s good at it, but I don’t really get it-- it’s not fast enough! All those tiny stitches and—”

Matsukawa gives small push against Iwaizumi’s back, urging him forward. Kenma’s cut them out of the conversation, and they have to move before someone else spots them.

After rounding the nearest corner, Iwaizumi nearly bumps into someone pressed up against the bend. “Lord Kuroo.”

Kuroo shoots a grin at him, raising back up to full height. “So good to see you too, Lord Iwaizumi. Is there something you need?” The smile on Kuroo’s face says that he already knows what they’ve set out to do. How could he have done that? Kenma didn’t send out any messengers—

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Of course not!” But Iwaizumi doesn’t miss that small flinch.

“I don’t think that small servant is going to do anything to your retainer.”

“There’s no way he would.” Kuroo glances around the corner, at the two still sitting there, chatting. He’s probably worried.

“Well, I’ll leave you to your spywork…”

“It’s not spywork,” Kuroo says defensively. “But I don’t remember any messengers being sent from this area, they would’ve passed by me. You need something from Karasuno?”

Before Iwaizumi can answer, Hanamaki cuts in, “Actually, we need something from you, Lord Kuroo.”

Kuroo blinks, catching his composure. “From me?”

“Your clan manages all the country’s finances, right? All the goods, all those documents… must be a lot of work.”

“And who are you?”

“Have we not introduced ourselves? I’m Hanamaki Takahiro, one of the nobles of Murakumo’s upper court. This is Matsukawa Issei, my fellow noble. The king has been thinking of expanding Murakumo trade, and has left all the heavy work to our families.”

“And—“

“So I was hoping that someone like you would have some advice! No specifics of course, but just some tips. It’s a huge task, and I just don’t know where to start.”

“Well, I—“

“You’d be the best person to ask!”

Matsukawa tugs on Iwaizumi’s sleeve, gesturing with a roll of his eyes towards the corridor. Iwaizumi understands in an instant. “Then, if you’d excuse me…”

Kuroo is only able to get off a fragment of a protest before he is drowned out by Hanamaki’s questions. Hanamaki could monologue for two hours straight on a good day, so Kuroo shouldn’t be bothering them for much longer.

Past a small pond of rabbit-ear irises is finally the Karasuno sector. Iwaizumi breathes a sigh of relief, his feet already aching from moving so fast in his heavy robes. Two rowdy-looking guards block his path when he approaches the room.

“Iwaizumi of Murakumo is here to see,” he pauses, for even if Kageyama is the head, it’s clear that the power lies elsewhere. “Sugawara of Karasuno.”

“I didn’t hear of any appointment,” says one of the guards, a fierce man with his hair cut short like a monk’s.

“I didn’t make one.”

“Then what are you doing here? Suga-san’s a busy man.”

“I need to talk with him, appointment or no.”

One of the guards, a shorter man with messy hair, starts to say something, but a voice comes from inside. "What's going on?"

Iwaizumi whirls around to see a young man far taller than he is, with pale skin and his eyes narrowed in a squint. He'd tower over Iwaizumi's father if they stood side-by-side, but Iwaizumi's attention swivels to how the young man's hair is rivals the brightness of wheat. The surprised inhale that Iwaizumi takes brings in a deep smell, like burning wood. The omega frowns down at him, perhaps sensing his surprise. "And who's this?" He has a slight accent, as even-toned as the flats of his stare. His disdain doesn't change from Iwaizumi to the guards.

The shorter of the two guards speaks first. "We got the prince of Murakumo here. But he didn't have an appointment with Suga-san."

A ripple passes across the omega's face.

"Tsukki!"

"Yachi-san." The omega looks displeased between Yachi and Iwaizumi, considering it. "Alright, let them pass."

"We don't know what he wants."

"That's right. We don't." The glare he gets is downright chilly. "But we'll find out. Follow me."

It’s no small distance between the guards and the living quarters, a long hallway with few doors stretching between them. Likely for safety and for privacy; the privilege of being in front of a member of the royal bloodline stems from their exclusivity.

Beyond that, there’s this strange omega. His robes, dipped in black and orange, aren’t those of a servant. They’re not for high nobility either, but the patterns on his kimono are far too detailed to be cheaply made. Clearly he has some authority to order the guards around and speak on Sugawara’s behalf, but Iwaizumi can’t tell what position or rank he holds.

“When did you arrive?” Yachi chirps, hurrying to catch up with the omega’s long strides. “I thought you were back at the Jade Palace.”

“I was. Sawamura’s still sick, but I got an urgent summons from Sugawara. So here I am, arrived" this morning.”

No wonder, Iwaizumi would have definitely remembered someone that looks like that. "Tsukki— he starts.

"Is a nickname. Tsukishima Kei is my real name."

Golden hair, with a height that far outclasses any omega he's ever seen. Iwaizumi tests his words. "Are you... like Yachi?"

"What, a servant?"

"No, I mean... did you come to this country the same way?"

Tsukishima laughs, but even though his eyes are smug, there's a faint bitterness on his lips. "Wouldn't that be nice? No, I'm a hostage."

Yachi shears her lip with her teeth. "Tsukki..."

"What? That's what it is, isn't it? What's the point of glossing it over?" Tsukishima sees the tension uncurling across Iwaizumi’s face and leers. “Did you think this country was a paradise?”

“I wasn’t— I wasn’t thinking of anything.”

Tsukishima looks like he’d been offered to hold a slug, and twists back around. “We’re here.”

The door Tsukishima slides open is truly ordinary, hardly distinguishable from any of the ones they passed. Inside is anything but, with patterned ricepaper arranged neatly and precisely in a repeating pattern. Wood has warped under some heavy decorated urns, pinning a tapestry of a phoenix rising from the mountains to the wall. One servant pauses in the middle of plucking a tune from his biwa, and the other halts filling a tray of cups with jasmine tea. Sugawara is sitting by his table, scrolls all rolled out around him. Unlike the proper room they’re in, the table is a mess, with coins scattered between the scrolls, half-filled inkwells all stacked on top of each other, and a candle burns dangerously close to a stick of wax. “Tsukishima, are you back already? The storerooms shouldn’t be that close…” His arm curves around a stroke of his brush, and he looks up. The sight of two new guests hardly moves his unfailing smile. “Good afternoon, Lord Iwaizumi. To what do I owe the visit?”

Tsukishima takes a seat by Sugawara’s side, folding his hands in his lap, the image of diligence if not for the frown marring his face. The servant with the biwa starts plucking at the strings again, and the other follows by filling the last of the cups. Iwaizumi hesitates; he’d assumed that Sugawara would be like his father and clear the room for private talks, but nobody makes any sign of getting up. Swallowing down his fears, he sits before Sugawara, motioning for Yachi to follow.

“I’m sorry for not sending a messenger about my arrival.”

“That’s fine.” Sugawara returns to his scroll, the quick swishes of his brush forming tiny words. “I don’t think Oikawa would’ve let you visit if you asked.” There is a prettiness to his words, but it’s not a glaze meant to hide everything underneath. Compared to the artifice of the court, his bluntness is a fresh breeze.

“It’s about Lord Kageyama.”

“Was our apology insufficient?”

“It was plenty. This isn’t about that. It’s about Lord Kageyama’s relationship with the crown prince.”

Sugawara looks thoughtfully at his writings, then at the two servants. He nods his head, and they depart.

When Sugawara turns to Tsukishima, Tsukishima snorts. “What, and miss hearing complaints about his high and mightiness? I’m staying.”

Hardly making a sound, Yachi takes the abandoned tea cups and distributes them to everyone. One sip later, and Iwaizumi feels a knot of jealousy of how good this country’s tea is.

Sugawara’s cup barely fits between the chaos on the table. “Yachi, is Lord Iwaizumi treating you well?”

She lets out a mouse’s squeak, fingers curling up. “Ah! Well, I— I think so! Lord Iwaizumi is very nice…”

“I think so.” Tsukishima cuts in with ease. “He did ask me if Yachi-san and I were the same.”

Sugawara chuckles, rolling one of his scrolls shut. “Is that right? I see. That’s good to hear.”

Iwaizumi realizes his mistake— he wouldn’t have known of Yachi’s circumstances unless she had told him. It’s not the biggest misstep, but he feels the scavenger’s eyes before him, probing. “I came to ask something.”

Sugawara raises his eyebrows a fraction, binding one of the scrolls shut with a small cord. “You know that even if you are courting the prince, that doesn’t make you entitled to family secrets.”

“I know. I wouldn’t ask for that.” Iwaizumi sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t need details. But from what I’ve seen, Oikawa doesn’t like Kageyama very much— but that’s not the true the other way around. Why such a big difference?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

“Because if I do marry Oikawa, I need to know if there will be any trouble.”

Sugawara claps his hands once in understanding. “I see! That makes sense.”

Iwaizumi blinks. He didn’t think it would be this easy. “You don’t doubt me?”

“Should I? If you’re thinking of inflaming the issue between the two, you wouldn’t ask me. You’d use your spies, or bribe a member of the lower court to investigate. The last thing you’d do is come ask me, not if you were trying to be subtle.”

Iwaizumi silently acquiesces. “Then you’ll answer me?”

“I think so.”

"Why?" For as nice as Sugawara seems, there are always unspoken costs to secrets and nothing is ever free.

Sugawara brushes the question off like a speck of dirt. "Oh, that," and there's smile in his voice, too charming to match the one on his face.  "You see, when you marry Lord Oikawa— and your chances seem pretty good right now, I'll let you know that— then Lord Oikawa will go back with you to Murakumo. That leaves the throne empty and then, well, let's just say it's much easier to fight Nekoma than Lady Abiko."

Such an impossible question came out all too easy, and Iwaizumi sits stunned, not sure how to respond. He's so used to meanings hidden behind pretty words and carefully woven poems with whispers of death between stanzas that Sugawara's bluntness is a blade in his arm.

"You object?"

"Not... really." Despite the harshness of it all, that would mean that Karasuno is on his side. He could always use more allies in a room full of enemies. "I didn't expect you to say it, that's all."

"Aren't you glad I did? That's how things are done in Karasuno."

It's not as if Sugawara has no concept of the court; Iwaizumi's seen him weave words as well as any noble does. Out of Lady Abiko's sight, Sugawara has thrown the concept to the ground. It feels all too similar to Kageyama's cutting words, wrapped in a different cloth.

"Then I’ll be blunt. You're not related to Kageyama, are you?"

For the first time, Sugawara's smile goes limp, drifting into melancholy. His words are heavy, stones sinking to the ocean floor. "I'm not that lucky, no. The Karasuno clan is proud to defend this great country. Still... in the process of that, my old lord died, and his wife too. Warriors, both of them, died honorably. A young boy doesn't know honor, only that one day his parents are breathing, and the next they aren't. Daichi— my husband— and I were both advisors our lord, and control of the clan was given to us until Kageyama came of age. And so we've been ever since." A cheeky grin perks up Sugawara's cheeks a little. "He's my son, blood or no!"

“You’re proud of him.”

“Why wouldn’t I be? He’s accomplished a lot in his young years. A genius on the battlefield, he might as well have been born with a bow in hand. He is lacking on the political front, as you know.”…” Sugawara chuckles low, to himself. “Quite a disaster. Kageyama really needs to improve his speech. But in retrospect… it was pretty funny, wasn’t it?”

Iwaizumi feels a great pity towards Sugawara’s husband.

"His apology was enough. Regardless, Kageyama and Lord Oikawa are cousins, aren't they?" The big gamble. “Is it true that they didn’t always used to be on bad terms?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Sugawara admits, saddened. “Karasuno used to reside in the main palace the way Nekoma does currently. Lord Ukai and Lady Katano used to travel between here and the Jade Palace, so Kageyama spent time in both locations. Lady Katano used to urge Kagyama to go spend time with his cousin— there was nobody around his age in our clan at the time. He needed to be with someone close to his age.”

A loud scoff, and Tsukishima rolls his eyes. “So his fine and powerful majesty became a stalker instead.”

The sudden rudeness stuns Iwaizumi, but he tries politely, “You’ve known Kageyama for a long time?”

“I’ve been that brat’s babysitter ever since I was dragged here. He’s a handful. Who knows how Lord Oikawa could deal with that kid clinging to him all the time like that. Our little prince was more like Lord Oikawa’s third leg. Every single time he heard that his cousin was nearby, he’d go running, and I’d have to chase after him. He really can’t read a room.”  

Tsukishima is the most outspoken hostage that Iwaizumi’s ever seen.

“Tsukishima…” Sugawara says, pleasant but warning. At that, Tsukishima bubbles down a little, maintaining his frown.

“I’ll admit that it was a little troublesome,” Sugawara admits, nostalgia churning across his face. “It took time for Kageyama to warm up to Daichi and me, so he latched onto the closest blood relative he had. He really did admire Lord Oikawa though— this was around the time when Lord Oikawa was starting his military training. Kageyama would try to practice alongside him, even if the bow was bigger than his body.” Sugawara snorts, coughing down a laugh. “But he got very good, very quickly. Kageyama won the yearly archery exhibition when he was only 12— Daichi almost cried.”

It’s a warm story, but he has to ask the inevitable, “But then?”

“But then.” Sugawara speaks more softly than Iwaizumi anticipates. “I don’t know but then. Lord Oikawa is okay with Kageyama one day, and the next Kageyama comes back saying he was turned away. It happened again and again until we got the order that Karasuno was to vacate to the Jade Palace permanently. Lady Abiko made it clear it had nothing to do with the clan’s performance, but I knew it was Lord Oikawa’s doing.” Sugawara’s voice has dipped low, scraping the earth, but a moment later he is back to normal. “So please marry him as soon as possible, alright? We’re rooting for you.”

“R-Right…”

The door slides open, and in walks Kageyama, flanked by two betas holding bows. Gone are the long silks of his usual dark court robes, instead replaced with a dark blue practice outfit. His hair clings to his neck and forehead, and the bridge of his nose has a sheen of sweat. “I’m done,” he announces, flat as ever before he sees Iwaizumi. He flinches, stepping back once, nearly bumping into one of the betas that came in with him.

The one on the right is holding a quiver full of blunted arrows, but she taps him lightly on the shoulder. She’s also in practice robes, along with the small parade going past them in the hall. “Lord Kageyama, what’s wrong?”

“I… we have a guest.”

Both betas frown at him, not angry, more protective. They know who he is and they know how he ranks, so neither say a word.

Kageyama stands in the doorway, stiff and uncertain. Then, a low mumble, “I said I was sorry.”

Iwaizumi waves off his concerns. “It’s not about that.”

“Oh.” Kageyama bristles, makes his way forward with his sandals thrumming on the ground. “I need to talk to you.”

“About what?” Sugawara asks, ever-patient.

“Stuff.” Iwaizumi barely has a moment before he’s yanked to his feet. Kageyama is wiry but strong, and nothing can dislodge the iron grip he has on Iwaizumi’s arm. “Let’s go,” he says, and pulls Iwaizumi away from the group.

 

* * *

 

Lord Kageyama hurries him into one of the side rooms, and sits him down by a silk screen. Birds flit between the mountains over Iwaizumi’s head, and if he shifts to the side, he’ll bump into a typhoon contained atop a kimono. Looking around and finding no comfortable place to sit, Lord Kageyama pushes aside a tray holding incense and some bound scrolls, and plops onto the floor. There isn’t much space, and their knees are just short of touching.

When they sit for a few minutes in silence, Iwaizumi realizes that Kageyama isn’t the type to start casual conversation.

“Were you busy earlier?” he tries.

“Yes, I was with my harem.”

Iwaizumi blinks. Beta harems are common for nobility— after all, it doesn’t matter what their lord is, alpha or omega, any beta would be able to serve them with ease. At least, that’s how it is in most countries; he could’ve sworn that following the massive overturn of rules under Lord Oikawa’s great-great grandfather came the abolishment of beta harems in the imperial court. “I didn’t know that Aoba Jousai still used the harem system.”

“They don’t, but Suga-san suggested that I try it out.”

Even before thinking that, the group that came in with Lord Kageyama weren’t outfitted in court robes. “I thought you were training with your guards.”

“I don’t have any guards.”

The thought swishes around in Iwaizumi’s skull. “The group of beta warriors you were with, that’s your harem?”

“Yes.” Kageyama cocks his head. “What else is a harem good for?”

Iwaizumi breathes through his nose, very carefully. “Let’s change the topic. Do you need something from me?”

Kageyama squints at him, pressing up on his heels to get a closer look at Iwaizumi. His eyebrows furrow, narrowing his stern face even more. “What does Oikawa-san see in you?”

He might as well have just hit Iwaizumi over the head with a rock. “...Sorry?”

“He hasn’t tried to kill you yet. I can tell ghosts from people.”

“The tournament?”

Kageyama’s eyes are cutting. “Oikawa-san can hit moving targets with ease. A still one’s simple.”

He’s had his suspicions, but now that’s confirmed. The line across his cheek itches, fire simmering low. “I don’t think I’ve done anything worthy of execution.”

“Are you sure?”

“Do you have proof otherwise?”

Kageyama sucks his cheeks through his teeth and sulks. “Why do you want to marry him? Land? Property? Access to our treasury?”

Not even Lady Abiko was this hard on his father when he came with the original proposal. “It’s a political marriage, you know that.”

“You’re not interested in Oikawa-san except for politics?”

“No! No, that’s not…” Iwaizumi rubs his temples with a sigh, wondering how he can salvage this situation. He hasn’t even told Hanamaki and Matsukawa the full story yet, and he’s not keen on spilling his guts to a stranger. Shifting his knees so that he’s in a more comfortable position, he stills himself, thinks. “He’s a brilliant man, inspiring. Most people could only dream of accomplishing what he’s done. Who wouldn’t want to marry someone like that?”

Kageyama’s lips twitch, sullenly accepting the answer.

Weaving into the empty space, Iwaizumi pushes, “Did you pull me aside to ask me that? Or is there something else on your mind?” Kageyama flinches, and Iwaizumi know he hit true. “Go on, tell me. I’m listening.”

All Kageyama does is stare at him for a long moment, so he thinks Kageyama will lapse into shyness before a sudden, “Take back your bid.”

Iwaizumi blinks, thinking he heard that wrong. But Kageyama is sitting serious and sour as ever. He slowly smooths out his robes and puts his full attention on the young lord. “I’m not letting Lord Oikawa kill me, you know. You don’t have to be worried about me.”

“It’s not about that. It would be better for everyone if you bowed out.”

“And what does it matter to you? Isn’t the Karasuno right behind Nekoma for succession? As long as you manage to get Lady Abiko to accept you, then you have a chance at possibly getting the throne. Why the protest?”

Kageyama’s knuckles dig into his knees. “I want the throne. Someday.”

“So—“

“Tsukishima says that things are different for omegas. He never came to age in Chisekishou, but if he was, he’d have to take an alpha’s hand in marriage and leave his country. That’s what omegas do outside of Aoba Jousai. You’re not from our country. When you marry Oikawa-san, you’ll bring him back to Murakumo.”

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow, not getting why Kageyama is stating the obvious. “Sorry for being forward, but don’t you and Lord Oikawa not get along? Wouldn’t it be better if he was away from you?”

Kageyama reddens, pursing his lips as he squirms through an uncomfortable answer. “He doesn’t like me very much. But I… I don’t dislike him. Oikawa-san is Oikawa-san. He’s…” A short, muted breath. “He’s amazing. He can do so much! He… he’s good at his sword, people listen to him, he can make nice poetry…”

Iwaizumi knows, he understands because Lord Oikawa _is_ amazing, and even if he has deemed Iwaizumi his enemy, there’s no question that he’s smart and fierce and could string up sunbeams if he tried. Kageyama’s seen that light his whole life.

“He’s my cousin, one of the few family I have left. At least we were born alphas,” he mumbles. “We can stay with our families, even after marriage.”

“You like him a lot, don’t you?”

A slight crease bends Kageyama’s mouth, but it’s not a frown. “Yes.”

“Even though he doesn’t like you?”

“He’s my cousin. What family doesn’t love each other?”

Heart pounding in his throat, Iwaizumi’s tongue withers dry. Family is all, at least until someone steps outside of narrow boundaries. Family is the ultimate, or so it is until you dream beyond the path you were set on from birth.

Kageyama’s eyes are clear, like an endless stretch of cloudless sky. Truth stings Iwaizumi’s tongue, because that’s not how the world works. Such pleasant delusions. Shouldn’t Kageyama know that better than anyone else? Iwaizumi bites back his words. He doesn’t have the right to paint over such a pure sky. “I suppose that’s true.”

Sullen, Kageyama’s chin dips down. “I wish Oikawa-san and I could play again, like we used to.”

There isn’t much playing that comes with adulthood, and Kageyama doesn’t seem like the type to play shogi or be good with instruments, but longing doesn’t need details. “Did anything strange happen between you two back then?” At Kageyama’s confused stare, Iwaizumi clarifies, “You said he’s not friendly with you now, right? Do you remember anything that might have made him annoyed with you? Nothing big, just small.”

Kageyama knots his eyebrows, struggling to pull memories. “I spilled ink on his favorite kimono once. He got pink and puffy like a blowfish. He also got pink and puffy when I won the archery exhibition.”

“I saw your run. You’re talented, aren’t you?”

“I’m a warrior of Aoba Jousai. I have to be the best at what I do.”

Born in the family that supervises the military, it’s no surprise that Kageyama would be exceptionally talented. “That’s all?”

Kageyama’s fingers drum along his hakama, pensive. “I… there was one strange time. I was visiting the palace with Sawamura, around when an ambassador came from Kikata. She was passing by us and she called me the crown prince. Stupid. I don’t look anything like Oikawa-san.”

“When was that?”

“Not sure. Two… summers after I presented, I think? Or was it one? It was a dumb mistake and Oikawa-san got mad about it. Is that… is that it?”

“Who knows?”

Kageyama’s curiosity turns sulky. “I thought you were going to tell me.”

“I’m no satori, I can’t read Lord Oikawa’s mind.”

Having no choice but to accept the answer, Kageyama’s expression becomes a mix of confusion and irritation. “Lord Iwaizumi, you seem to be a kind person. You’re honest and strong. I can see that. But that doesn’t matter if you’re here to take Oikawa-san away. You’d be a better ally than a husband.”

There is no deterring Kageyama, and there is no winning. Everything Kageyama said was right, and even if Iwaizumi already knew what would happen if his courting was successful, now he’s staring the consequences head-on. He’s potentially splitting up an already fragmented family, and he’s not sure if there’s any way around that.

The wooden doors clatter open, and Iwaizumi’s eyes flit to the side, expecting to see one of the Karasuno servants with some tea or sweets.

His throat thins as it prepares to be cut in two.

“Well, what’s going on here?” Lord Oikawa stands in the doorway, smile on his lips and a fire in his eyes that could scorch all life to ashes. Clad in his thin nightclothes with only sandals on his feet, anyone could tell he’d been disturbed, and is all the more angry for it. “Isn’t this a fun gathering, I・wa・chan?”

If he gives the truth, a cruel and ruthless end is all that awaits him. If Kageyama, with no lies on his tongue, speaks first, then his head will slide off his shoulders. Fear has fixed his features, so Iwaizumi blurts out, “Oh, Lord Oikawa, there you are. I was waiting for you.”

Lord Oikawa blinks, fire quelled briefly at something he didn’t expect.

Before Lord Oikawa can say anything further, Iwaizumi gets to his feet. “Now that you’re here, let’s talk in the other room. Kageyama, do you mind excusing us for a few minutes? Call Yachi in if you need entertainment.”

Kageyama is oblivious the inferno before them both. “I don’t mind.”

“Perfect. Let’s go.”

He makes to leave, but Lord Oikawa is nailed in place. “Wait just a moment,” he protests.

“Can I touch you?”

“I—”

Iwaizumi grabs Lord Oikawa by the arm and drags him away.

On the way in, there was an empty storeroom to the right, and his feet follow the vague memory. Lord Oikawa struggles, but Iwaizumi’s grip is tighter than a snake’s. At the edge of the room, Lord Oikawa digs his heels into the wood, and Iwaizumi heaves, pulling him with all his strength. Too much, and Lord Oikawa goes tumbling, crashing into a stack of wooden boxes.

An apology forms on his tongue, but Lord Oikawa starts onto his feet. Something bisects his vision, shining vibrantly. Iwaizumi follows the blur down until it straightens into steel gripped by a black pearled hilt.

“You.” Lord Oikawa’s voice has transcended anger into icy smoothness. “You commiserate with Tobio, you drag me in here, you throw me like I’m some old toy— you must be truly eager to lose your head.”

If he even inclines towards surrender, Lord Oikawa will happily take out his eyes right there. “I’m not losing my head. Neither is Kageyama. And neither are you.”

“For someone who’s plotting behind my back, those are bold words.”

“Nobody’s plotting. At least, I’m not dumb enough to plot in front of your handmaiden. You saw her around, didn’t you? I asked her to come along and she agreed.” By Yachi being there, he would be forbidden from discussing anything that would hurt Oikawa’s cause- and in him inviting her, that’s proof that he isn’t going with ill intentions. There’s no way Lord Oikawa found them by chance, he had to have been given directions.

Lord Oikawa’s eyes narrow, but his knife doesn’t stray.

Iwaizumi reaches up and grabs the tip of the blade. Cold and merciless. His light touch wouldn’t be enough to stop the blade from being driven forward. “Let’s talk. Without the blade. And I’m sorry for throwing you.”

Lord Oikawa’s eyes narrow, but the chill melts a fraction. “Then talk.”

The blade doesn’t retreat from Iwaizumi’s face, but he can deal with that. “What do you have against Kageyama?”

“Since when is that any of your business?”

“If he gets the throne, do you think whatever you two have against each other will vanish? It won’t. I came to find out for myself. And I think I figured it out.”

“Oh?” A sneer perks up Lord Oikawa’s lips as he tastes a challenge. “Then what did little Tobio-chan do? If you get it right and he prostrates himself in front of me, then maybe I’ll forgive him. Don’t say anything dull.”

Iwaizumi twists his tongue. Takes a short but deep breath. Makes his gamble. “Nothing.”

“...What?”

“Kageyama didn’t do anything.”

“I don’t understand. What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you started hating him, not for what he’s done, but what he _is_.”

A breath constricts Oikawa, and Iwaizumi pushes forward. “Kageyama is brash, blunt, and straightforward. He likes you a lot, and he was a clingy kid, wasn’t he? It’s nice to feel admired as a kid, especially when your baby cousin follows you around everywhere. He’s clumsy, but that’s fine, you can deal with that because you know he just wants to stay around you. He admired you so much that he started to copy you, and that’s fine too, all kids copy their idols. Except then he starts learning quickly, wins the archery exhibition one time. He hit all the targets with ease recently, didn’t he? I’m sure he’s worked hard, but some people are just natural masters at combat. He’s a warrior by blood. Copying’s fine, but after a while, that’s competition. Competition for someone like you, who’s worked themselves to the bone.”

The boy has natural talent, a blessing from the gods. By contrast, Lord Oikawa’s shinai is whittled down, he practices even when there’s guests, he makes sure that he’s a warrior too. Still, that’s practice, not natural. Someone who furiously practices and has little talent can never win against someone with natural talent and moderate practice. So where does that leave Lord Oikawa, if Kageyama is just as devoted as he is?

Oikawa’s knuckles are white against the knife hilt.

“And that’s annoying, but it’s not a crime to be good at something either. But then you both come of age; you first, then him a few years later. Inside Aoba Jousai, there’s no issue, but all it took was one foreigner to remind you that’s only true inside your home country.”

Kageyama and Lord Oikawa are cousins, but because Kageyama inherited his mother’s looks, he looks strikingly like Lady Abiko. By contrast, Lord Oikawa only shares his mother’s body proportions and her eyes. An outsider that isn’t too familiar with the court would see a young alpha royal that looks like the empress and mistake that boy to be the prince.

“He’s competition then, truly— not just for what you do, but for who you are. And that’s before you realized that being an omega meant you’d lose the throne, possibly to him. You must’ve wanted to kill him. If you were a little stupider, you would’ve done so. But you know that Kageyama didn’t mean it. It was easier to make him disappear.”

Every time Lord Oikawa looked at Kageyama, it must have felt like torture. A living, physical reminder that not everyone is blessed at birth, not even the crown prince. Yet, that young boy who couldn’t read the atmosphere would seek out Lord Oikawa every time he could.

Quietly, and frigid like the sun blinked out of the sky, Oikawa growls, “What do you want?”

“Why don’t you try getting along with him?”

Lord Oikawa is silent, any complaints slapped from his mouth. Away is the heat of rage, beat back by squirming confusion. “Get along… with Tobio?”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s _Tobio_.”

“And? You know you’re being ridiculous. You had no grounds to banish him, so you just did what you could and chased him away instead, and brought the rest of his clan with him. You could’ve convinced your mother to do worse, but you didn’t.”

The hand holding the knife falls back to Lord Oikawa’s side. No louder than a whisper, Lord Oikawa says, “I know it’s logically absurd. I know that.” A spark in the kindling flares his voice into an inferno. “But all the logic in the world doesn’t change how I feel! It doesn’t make me feel any better! It doesn’t change what happened! Why does all the luck in the world have to go to that brat?” He called Lord Oikawa an ashura before, but now he sees the blazing rage of the being before him, and knows he was right. “And now… after years and years of resentment, you expect me to let it go?”

Iwaizumi is stunned. He knows he should say something, that it would be right to comfort Lord Oikawa, but he can’t. On a conceptual level, he understands, but that’s only in theory. Even then, he says, without question, “Yes.”

The punch lands before he can block it. “Here I thought you had some empathy.”

Iwaizumi wouldn’t call himself a man of reason, but he wouldn’t call himself a man of instinct either. It is all instinct that brings forth from his mind, _never let yourself be hit without hitting back_ , a thought that sends his fist straight back into Lord Oikawa’s stomach.

“I am not going to be caught up in your family fued! Something as stupid as that… family is all you have!”

Lord Oikawa’s smile is thin and humorless as he clutches his stomach. “And why would you say that, Lord Iwaizumi?” He rises to his feet, robes pooling by his feet as he makes his way forward. “Not disputing my logic, not saying my feelings aren’t valid, but— that ‘family is everything’.” Lord Oikawa pushes his face into Iwaizumi’s, and between the wall and the prince, there’s no place to retreat to. “Does this come from a place of experience?”

Heat rushes to Iwaizumi’s face. He was speaking from his heart, but for a moment he forgot who he was speaking to. There’s no point in lying now that he’s been exposed. “Yeah, it does.”

Lord Oikawa raises an eyebrow, clearly not having expected the truth.

Iwaizumi opens his mouth, closes it again, swallows. His stomach wrings itself thin, and he doesn’t want to say it, because he’s never had to say it before anyone who didn’t know bedore, and saying it makes it real. But Lord Oikawa is right before him, dagger eyes probing and demanding, and he deserves an explanation.

“My immediate family isn’t all together anymore.”

“Your parents are both alive and still married.”

“Not them. My sister. She was supposed to marry up, to a royal of some large country somewhere. But she fell in love with the prince of Kazukawa, and Kazukawa’s not strong enough for the old man.”

“It’s not an engagement?”

“Now it is, only because she accepted banishment in return.”

He’ll never pass his sister in the halls, never hear her voice echo through the courtyards, never see her flash by as she practiced her horseback riding. Her room has been cleared out, her leftover kimono distributed to the nobles. Nariko’s calligraphy hanging on the wall of the tea room only remained up at his mother’s insistence. She’s not dead, she’s out there somewhere, but they’ll never argue again or make up their arguments with a tray of okashi.

Lord Oikawa watches him, utterly unreadable, patient for more. When nothing comes, the flash in his eyes slow and he asks, “Would you want her to come back?”

“I’d punch my old man in the face if it meant he’d stop being so stubborn. So I… I don’t understand why you’d willingly fracture the family you have left. I’d—” He stops himself there, biting back his words before he goes too far.  

A long stalemate passes.

Lord Oikawa takes a step back, giving them both space. He sheaths his pearl-handled blade, and looks into the corners of the room. Iwaizumi takes a hushed breath as he waits for Lord Oikawa to make a move, but he never does, just stands in muted repose. The prickle of heated fury has long cooled down, but in its place is a dreary exhaustion.

Finally, Lord Oikawa rubs his eyes, a great sigh escaping his throat. He looks to Iwaizumi, watching, waiting. “Tobio-chan is still an empty-headed moron who doesn’t think before he speaks. Too clingy, too annoying.” Iwaizumi starts to say something, but Lord Oikawa chops him short. “But I know he’s worried about me. I get it. I understand. But you’re right- outside Aoba Jousai, the only legitimate heir is Tobio. Me, I’m just an anomaly, something that needs to be put into its place.” He laughs mirthlessly. “Unfair, isn’t it?”

Everything’s unfair; Nariko’s banishment, the fact that he’s here, their roles, this sordid reality. “The world will never give anyone their fair due. But I don’t see why that should be the end of anyone.”

The tension in Lord Oikawa’s shoulders bleed dry. “That’s true.”

“Just because the world is unfair doesn’t mean that’s the end of you and Kageyama. He’s no the world. You know that.”

Lord Oikawa pauses, and then lets out the longest, droned out groan. When he turns back around, his usual beautiful face is creased in a grimace. “Ugh, do I really have to hold hands with Tobio-chan? He’s going to look at me with those hopeful eyes and follow me around again and ask me for equestrian tips!”

Iwaizumi stares, unamused. “What are you, a child?”

“I don’t want to! I don’t want to!”

“Maybe he really will beat you then.”

“ _No!_ ”

“Then prove it. Be the better person. You are his amazing cousin, after all.”

Lord Oikawa’s pink face turns nasty. “And he’ll never beat his amazing cousin, either!”

Iwaizumi nods, satisfied. “Let’s go back.”

He extends his hand, and after a lengthy pause, Lord Oikawa takes it.

 

* * *

 

Yachi is on her knees before the young lord, bent over a blank scroll with a brush in hand. Her hand flows across the paper, leaving a mountainscape in its wake. She squeaks when they come into the room, dropping her brush.

Kageyama is sitting right where he was before, doors open to the pond beyond the open doors and the geese swimming across. He was watching Yachi work, but now frowns at the inkblot forming where Yachi’s brush fell. “There’s a hole in the mountain…”

“What are you two doing?” Iwaizumi asks.

“Yachi is good at landscapes. I’m not, so I’m watching.” He straightens up when he sees Lord Oikawa still there, and studies him hard like he expects Lord Oikawa to melt away.

“I’m still here,” Lord Oikawa grumbles.

Kageyama bobs his head, clearly half disbelieving.

Lord Oikawa plops down in front of Kageyama unceremoniously, propping his chin up on the curl of his hand. Kageyama barely reacts, only quietly enraptured by the prince's presence. “You know, you’re still a colossal fool.”

“You say that a lot.”

“Your chin is down.”

“I—“

“I said your chin is down, Tobio! You always have to keep a good posture in the court! Especially in front of guests!”

“We’re not—” Kageyama yelps when Lord Oikawa bends over and pushes on his chest and back, forcing his back to be straight.

“Someone this sloppy will never be able to overtake me. Dreams are never enough. You need to be a ruler as well. A good ruler.” Despite the teasing and prodding, there’s nothing but seriousness on Lord Oikawa’s face. He is strong-backed, regal, divine, the very image of the imperial prince. “This is our country. Ruling it isn’t fun, it’s not a game. It’s our duty. You may want the empire, but you need to act for it too. You’re too careless, you don’t prune your words, you assume. You have to take care of all those before you even think of succeeding me.”

“Even if it’s my bloodright?”

“Blood isn’t enough to squirm your way to the throne. You need to be patient. Practice more than just your combat; practice _people_. You’re stubborn, but that stubbornness isn’t good when you practice words.”

“I listen.”

“You listen to yourself. Nobody will follow someone who doesn’t hear them in return. You’re an echo inside a bronze bell, and that won’t help anyone. Your way isn’t the only way. You have to learn to be flexible. Work hard for all these things. Learn. Or else you’ll ruin our country when you take the throne.”

Kageyama’s jaw is set, and his knuckles are white against his knees. His innards were yanked out and displayed before him, and all he can do is thin his lips. A frustration flutters across his face, but it passes into calmness. “You’re right.”

Lord Oikawa pauses. “Huh?”

“You have the qualities to rule. You always did. And…” Kageyama drops his eyes, hesitant. “I don’t.”

“Oh? You finally realized?” Lord Oikawa haughtily replies, but Iwaizumi elbows him hard in the side.

“I know why you don’t like me.”

Iwaizumi glances over to Lord Oikawa, expecting a haughty, snippy response, but all he sees is surprise.

“Tsukishima told me. Well, Tsukishima tells me that alphas have it easy, and you’re not an alpha.”

“Huh, no wonder. I didn’t think you’d figure it out on your own.”

Unperturbed, Kageyama continues. “I didn’t think it was true. We from Karasuno weren’t allowed near the main palace, but we still get news. Death happens, and any warrior kills. But you’ve had fifteen suitors and they’re all dead. I wasn’t there, but I knew— they had to have done something. And I thought that maybe Tsukishima might be right.”

Lord Oikawa is deathly silent, amusement replaced with flat annoyance.

“But I’m not a suitor. And still…” Kageyama swallows. “I didn’t think you’d ever talk to me willingly. I don’t know if why you’re angry was that big but… that’s a grudge. Anyone who holds a grudge over small things shouldn’t be emperor.” He’s not dull. Kageyama seems like the type to paint a picture by pouring the paint all on at once; sloppy but still hits the mark. “But you came and talked to me right now, so you don’t have a grudge. So… you really are meant to rule.”

Lord Oikawa’s eyes widen, lips scrunching up between shock and fury. “What happened to wanting the throne?” he bites out.

Kageyama’s brow furrows, and his head sags. “I… I know I’m not experienced enough to take the throne. It’s not just because Tsukishima says so… I don’t have a sway over people the way you do. I make mistakes.” He shifts slightly away from Iwaizumi. “I don’t have the experience, not yet. But I’ll learn. I’ll figure it out.” Kageyama raises his eyes again, sharp with determination. “But I still want the throne. If you aren’t a good ruler, then I’ll take my birthright. ”

“...When did my stupid little cousin grow up?” Lord Oikawa laughs into his sleeve, his eyes thinning with haughty amusement. “That’s right, you won’t be able to overtake me! Oikawa-san knows all! You’re not skilled enough to challenge me! ...Not now, at least.”

Kageyama’s chin jerks up, as he stares, lips parted and eyes wide, marveling. He doesn’t say anything, but anyone could see how twisted up his chest is that the sun is finally shining down upon him.

Even Lord Oikawa sees it, and it makes him swallow hard. Iwaizumi’s only seen the cold luster in the courts, and the sharp blade in battle, but the cloth has fallen down. A tangle of emotions cross his face, so fast and muddied that it’s impossible to tell which he feels more, or which is the truth. Maybe it’s all, maybe it’s none, but Lord Oikawa reaches forward and brushes aside the wayward strand of hair in Kageyama’s bangs.

Kageyama’s hand is faster than his thoughts, and his fingers close on the edge of Lord Oikawa’s long sleeve, pressing down so hard the fabric rumples. His lips wrinkle, and it isn’t quite a smile, but it’s the closest that Iwaizumi’s seen on Kageyama’s face. Lord Oikawa rolls his eyes, but he makes no move to knock Kageyama away.

 

* * *

 

“Um… I think that went rather well!” Yachi walks ahead of the two of them, turning back every once in a while to make sure that they’re still there. It’s unusual for a servant to walk before a lord, but Yachi insisted on taking care of them both at once, and for that she’d sweep the ground with her kimono so they could walk freely. She’s a hard worker, no doubt.

She stumbles and looks back again, chewing a loose fleck of skin off her lips. “Your majesty, are you upset?”

Tapping his cheek with a finger, Lord Oikawa hums. “ But, you two did go and do something I explicitly didn’t want, and I can’t let that go unpunished. I’ll think of something.”

Yachi’s shoulders slump. “Yes, your majesty…”

He’s not exactly sure what Lord Oikawa has planned, but if Yachi is involved too, it can’t be that bad. The creativity is something he’s worried about, but he’ll tackle that when it comes. “It still worked in your favor, you know.”

Lord Oikawa puffs up his cheeks in a pout, not acknowledging the statement.

“It did, you can’t deny it.”

“I guess,” Lord Oikawa grumbles. “Well, besides his admission, there’s also one other thing I’ll take— Tobio-chan definitely told us all this instinctually.”

It takes Iwaizumi a moment to realize what that means. All of Kageyama’s heartfelt sentiments, including not standing in Lord Oikawa’s way wasn’t something he’d divulged to his father. Sugawara had been very keen on getting Kageyama to the throne, but Kageyama brushed that all aside in a single moment.

Lord Oikawa snickers, a devilish smile propping up his cheeks. “That Refreshing-kun is going to have the scare of his life when all his machinations turn out to be for nothing. Too bad I won’t be present when he gets the news, a true shame.”

Before his mind can catch it, Iwaizumi flatly says, “You’re really a piece of crap.”

Halting, Lord Oikawa turns to him, as if he’d been slapped. Yachi is staring wide-eyed at him, speechless. Iwaizumi freezes— he’d momentarily forgotten he wasn’t around people he was familiar with.

“I-I’m sure that Lord Iwaizumi didn’t mean it! Right?” Yachi’s eyes dart between them, frantic.

Iwaizumi doesn’t say anything, but already he knows the dull look on his face had betrayed him.

Lord Oikawa breathes not quite a laugh, amused eyes accentuated by his long eyelashes. “You’re a strange one.”

“His majesty smiled…” Yachi mumbles, bewildered.

“Oikawa-san!” A thundering of footsteps pound their way, and all three of them turn to see Kageyama hurrying towards them as fast as he can. He rushes forward, so preoccupied with catching up them that he trips over the hem of his kimono and falls flat on his face. He struggles up, tangled in his long robes, but manages to right himself. Blood drips from his nose, but he doesn’t seem to have noticed as he blurts out, “Can I stay in the capital for a little longer?”

“Ugh, two scavengers around at once, eating all the trash.” Lord Oikawa scoffs, wrinkling his face up. He tips his chin up, crossing his arms. “......Fine. You can stay.”

Kageyama lights up again, scrambling to his feet. He dips into a low bow, then hurries down the hall towards the Karasuno quarters, where he narrowly avoids colliding with an exiting Tsukishima.

“Was that so bad?”

“It was horrible.”

Iwaizumi sighs, but he knows, and he puts his hand feathery-light on Oikawa’s back as they walk back to the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kageyama got his good day.


End file.
